


Of Lilac and Clover

by tonyendo



Series: Sapphics and Science [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Co-workers, F/F, Gabriel/Jack mentioned, Jesse/Genji mentioned, Not PETA approved, Past Moira/Mercy, Science Experiments, Unethical Experimentation, Unreliable Narrator, Useless Lesbians, incorrect science, lesbians harold, unreliable protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 89,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonyendo/pseuds/tonyendo
Summary: No intern has lasted a month under Moira. Clover Haugen, stubborn as hell and full of naïve ambition, was not a quitter.Perhaps things would have been easier had she walked away.
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Original Character(s), Moira O'Deorain/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Sapphics and Science [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887457
Comments: 93
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I previously published this, but I’ve decided to break it down and completely rewrite what I had :’) hope y’all like angst, but most importantly, LESBIANS

The day Clover had been preparing for had arrived at long last.

Innumerable hours spent slaving over stacks of notes in her cramped studio apartment had paid off—her knowledge and impetus carried her through a PhD. Yet, while her accomplishments were plenty and worth celebrating, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d slipped through the cracks of success. Her marks had been high—but not high _enough_. Clover had finished second only to a close friend.

She had told herself she wasn’t bitter. Though, lying wasn’t a strong suit of hers.

Despite not being _the_ top, Clover still finished one of the best of her class from a historically distinguished university. Her intellect caught the eyes of the infamous Overwatch, who extended a lucrative paid internship.

Thus, she’d packed up her life once again and moved across Europe for the second time. The prospective thought of finally starting her professional life, of beginning her _own_ research outside of academia… well, it was nauseating. In a good way.

For a woman named after a symbol of fortune, her own seemed to be threadbare that morning. The tram had run late— _after_ she’d already hopped on the wrong line. The prior week, she’d taken the public transit several times to engrain the path into her daily routine. Despite leaving early, she’d still managed to get turned around during rush hour in the main hub and jumped onto the wrong connecting train.

Rushed, she slipped through throngs of humans and omnics alike, shooting down the streets of Zurich. 

At first glance, the building seemed to blend into the nearby buildings. Multiple stories, reaching towards the sun alongside the office buildings and skyscrapers of downtown, it wasn’t out of place. It made sense, though. You wouldn’t want the headquarters of a world reknown organization to be flashy, like a neon sign informing enemies that ‘hey! Here we are! Come and get us!” Though, they didn’t try too hard to disguise the silver logo above the doors, or the flag in the courtyard among those of every nation.

Clover pressed into the building. She rushed through the public lobby and towards the employee check-in station.

Panting from her jog, she hastily wrestled her bag off in order to fling it onto the processing tray. The security measures were the same as the day she’d come in for an interview—search and search again. Their caution typically put her at ease, but she was already _late_ and the guard’s thoroughness was irksome.

“Badge?” He asked, German thick on his voice, once he’d finished patting her down. Clover slapped at the pockets of her coat. After a moment of hesitation, she began patting again, looking for the damned card.

“It’s—“ she gestured, exasperated, at the X-ray machine. “—it’s in my bag.”

The tray crept through the scanner, and Clover could feel her years trickling away. The man behind the screen didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to take _longer_ to scour every inch of the display. Behind her, people began to grumble due to the setback.

_Like the airport, yet somehow worse._

Finally, when her bag was approved, she launched herself forward and began frantically searching through the pockets. It only took a moment for her to straighten up and proudly display her badge.

The guard raised an eyebrow, glancing between her photo and face. On the lamination, her brown hair was neat and straightened, a smile reaching her hazel eyes behind her rounded glasses. In person, however, mousy brown waves were wild and licked at the ends from her run, the silky press of her iron gone. Her blouse was wrinkled, and had come untucked in her rush. 

Despite her disheveled state, a thin smile stretched across her lips, yet still reached her kind (yet anxious) eyes.

Once the man waved her on, Clover breathed a thanks before sprinting down the corridor.

She spent as little time as necessary in the locker room, shoving her personal belongings into her mandated compartment. Her lab coat was jerked on as she rushed through the halls. One of her arms snagged in it’s sleeve, and she yanked on the fabric, desperate to arrive presentable. Her arm slipped into place as soon as she turned into the doorway (nearly ramming into the frame as she did).

Seven heads swiveled to stare at her in unison. Six interns, one mentor.

She’d seen photos of her before, had read every published paper of her’s that she could find, but seeing her in person ramped up her anxieties. 

Moira O’Deorain, it was easy to tell—she’d heard (er… read?) tales of her new boss, but seeing her in person… well, she had to remember how to breathe for a moment.

Straight backed, with a posture that articulated ‘take no shit’, she towered over the intimidated interns beneath her. Even from across the room, that same intimidation stuck Clover. Forcing her feet to move, she made her way towards the group, swallowing down her nerves.

The intensity with which Moira glared made her blood run cold. She felt less like a new coworker and more like a microbe on a slide—one that had yielded less than impeccable results.

“You’re late,” her boss spoke. No hello, no professional greeting. Only the sharp clip of an Irish accent bringing attention to her tardiness. “You would be _thankful_ that I even allowed you into the lab, Dr. Haugen.” Moira turned back to the datapad she had been busy with.

Clover nodded swiftly, clearing her throat. “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes m—“ she cleared her throat, catching herself. ”Yes, Dr. O’Deorain.”

The other interns' stares caused her to shift uncomfortably. It felt like an eternity before they focused their attention on Moira once more. 

“Now, before I was interrupted,” Moira spoke, her manicured nails tapping away at the screen in her arms. “I expect this lab _spotless_ by the end of the work day. If I find so much as a fingerprint on a test tube, it will be done and redone. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and I will _not_ have impurities interfering with my results. Do I make myself clear?”

Quiet mutterings of ‘Yes, Dr. O’Deorain’ rippled through the group. Yet, no one moved. They were unsure of where to begin. When Moira glanced up, looking irate, the six interns scattered like startled ants.

Clover was about to grab a case of beakers to scrub when Moira called for her. “Dr. Haugen,” she drawled, beckoning her closer. “I have other plans for you.”

She swallowed thickly before approaching. “Yes, Doctor?”

Moira, still busy with the data pad, picked up her coffee mug. Instead of drinking from it, she held it out. WhenClover didn’t immediately take it, she forced it into her hands. “Sugar, light cream—don’t overdo it. While you’re out, I have a stack of papers waiting on the printer.”

Appalled, Clover’s mouth fell open. _Errands?_ The _gall_ of this woman!

“I— uhm, okay?” 

Eyebrows furrowed, Clover turned and left the lab. The _hiss_ of the automated door jarred her from her haze of thoughts.

Who the hell did she think she was?

Clover had expected… well, she hadn’t known _what_ to expect. Reading academic papers didn’t give an accurate reading of one’s personality, _obviously_ . They were clinical, dry, straightforward. However, she had at least expected a shred of human personality from her new boss. Not blatant disrespect.

Upon entering the break room, she found two men in a hushed, yet heated conversation.

One was darker skinned, dressed in mostly black, and could do with a shave. The bags under his eyes gave away that had been up for many hours with some grueling task or another.

The other was dressed in the iconic Overwatch blue. His hair was cropped neatly, and he held himself with confidence. The posture was different from how Moira stood in her lab, as though she was all-knowing. The man stood like a soldier—tall, back never to the door.

It swung shut behind her, causing both men’s eyes to snap up to her. Clover’s face read like a deer in the headlights as she was caught in their sights.

“What?” The blonde man snapped, his low voice shaking her with intimidation.

“I— uh—“ Sheepish, she held up Moira’s mug, adorned with the chemical composition for caffeine. “...Coffee?”

Good lord, could she manage a full sentence without stammering?

The darker man snorted, slapping at the other’s arm, pointing at the mug. “Fresh meat for O’Deorain. No one's spying, Jack.”

“Jack?” She wheezed. Her eyes flicked to his name tag, the name she found further knocking the wind from her lungs. 

“I mean— _Strike Commander Morrison?_ ” Clover fumbled with the mug in order to extend a hand. “An honor, sir. I’m eternally grateful for the internship, and I’ve heard many good things—“

Taking the internship with Overwatch, she had expected to rub shoulders with substantial people from across the globe, but it hadn’t fully occurred to her just who she would run into.

The grip of his calloused hand dwarfed her own. “Of course.” He glanced at her badge. “Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Haugen. Apologies for…” he gestured to himself and the other man. “Now, I must be going. Have a good day.”

Clover watched as he left abruptly, still a touch starstruck. Had she interrupted something?

As if reading her mind, the remaining man let out a snort. “Don’t mind him,” he said, bringing a cup to his lips. “Being broody, as usual. I think the stress is getting to him.”

Her dazed state began to wane. Clover made her way to the coffee pot, noting that someone had left enough for another cup. Once she’d drained the pot, she took the extra time to start a fresh brew. 

Hot coffee began to drip into the pot, and she figured she may as well attempt to continue the conversation.

“I’m sure it _is_ stressful. Being commander, well… must be a high-strung job, no?” 

“Wouldn’t know.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

The empty space became uncomfortable as they fell into silence. Instead of talking, she busied herself with trying to make coffee to the doctor’s liking. 

Clover huffed in frustration at the half filled mug. _Light cream_. She mentally scoffed, thinking, _come make it yourself then._

Twelve years in secondary education and she was immediately reduced to an overqualified personal assistant. Bitter bile rose up in Clover’s throat at the realization that she was being undermined before given a proper chance.

“So,” the man eventually spoke again, jarring her from her sour thoughts. Clover glanced over her shoulder as he pushed his chair away from the table. “Coffee duty, huh? You must have pissed her off something fierce.”

Her nose scrunched up in distaste. “My train ran late,” she explained simply.

There was a chuckle near her, startling her. Light footsteps. 

“Let me give you a tip about Moira,” he clapped her on the back, almost sending her to the floor. “The longest intern she’s had was three weeks, so don’t take it personally that she’s got you running for lunch.”

Clover pursed her lips, pouring cream into the mug. It kicked up a beige cloud, rolling like a summer storm across a prairie. “Why, pray tell, is that? Surely they’re not put off by her _welcoming_ personality.”

“Oh, snippy,” He grinned. “She likes _bold_ , and if she doesn’t think you’ve got enough fortitude, she won’t hesitate to kick your ass to the curb,” he explained. He leaned against the counter and offered her a packet of sugar. When she just stared at it warily, he shrugged and added it for her.

Clover stirred the crystals into the liquid. “Are you two _friends?_ ” She couldn’t imagine someone as seemingly lighthearted as him being friends with someone so… _irritable._

“Closest thing to a friend she’s got around here.” 

She paused to glance at him, panic in her eyes. “Oh. Well, uh, I didn’t mean anything _negatively—_ “

He laughed at her penitent expression. “Trust me, I’m not gonna tell on you. I know how she can be.” The pot hissed as it finishes brewing, and he began to refill his empty mug. 

“Besides—I’ve got a good feeling about you. About time a newbie stands up to her.”

“Stand up to her? I need this internship. The less I can do to piss her off, the better.” Clover frowned at her hazy reflection in Moira’s cup.

“Anyway… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

He extended the hand that wasn't holding his own mug. The skin was calloused as well, but in a different way. Morrison’s hands had been worn from working with them for many years, with stress bumps rising from pens and tools, where this man’s were scared from years of minor burns and scrapes.

“Reyes, Gabriel—Gabe if you want.”

“Gabriel,” she parroted, gingerly shaking his hand. “You can call me Clover, then. A pleasure.”

“Any time.” He smiled at her, and the genuine expression within it warmed Clover’s soul. She offered her own smile back.

Holding up the mug, she nodded to him. “I should be heading back—still need to grab papers from the printer. Where…?”

Gabriel jabbed a thumb behind him. “Over there.”

She shot him an apologetic look before retrieving the documents. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

“Any time, Clover.”

Juggling the documents and coffee, Clover returned to the lab. The other six interns were had at work, polishing metal trays and disinfecting beakers galore. One was even busying herself with spot cleaning even the smallest of crevices of the microscopes.

 _Kiss asses_.

Once the mug was handed over, Moira took a slow drink of the concoction. There was a slight shift in her eyes as she seemed pleased with the ratios Clover had mixed.

Even as Moira set the mug aside and returned to her work, Clover stood in front of her, lost in reverie. The startling contrast of her irises caught her interest. Head tilting, Clover found herself leaning forward slightly, trying to see more of them.

 _"_ _Dr. Haugen_ ,” Moira snapped, those brilliant eyes snapping up, anger ablaze within them. “Do you find it a habit to gawk at your boss?”

Mortified from being called out, heat climbed up Clover’s cheeks. She was well aware of the other interns as they’d all stopped scrubbing to see what she was failing at now.

Stammering, she tried to claw herself from sealing her fate as the lab’s weakest link. “Your eyes,” she finally settled.

“ _What about them?”_ A raw nerve, she realized she’d touched it too late.

 _She likes bold_ , Reyes’ words echoed in her mind. Clover straightened up, pointedly looking Moira in the eye. “I find them curious,” she said, nodding as though satisfied with her ballsy response. “I was merely appreciating them. Apologies, Dr. O’Deorain.”

Moira glanced over her, eyes narrowing. Finally she sent her away with a wave of a hand.

Clover’s tension eased, at least for a moment, and her shoulders dropped back to their normal position. She went to join the other interns in cleaning, feeling as though she appeared at least _somewhat_ better in Moira’s mind.

Most interns didn’t last a month? Well, she’d do whatever it took to prove that wrong. Clover wasn't a quitter, and would prove Moira that she was _more_ than competent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one and the next one will have a bit of modified text from pre-existing chapters, so if you’ve read my previous fic before I deleted it, you may see some repetition!

The train rattled along the track, Clover swaying as she held onto one of the central poles. It had been her routine for a month now to browse social media on her ride to work.

Suddenly, a hand reached over her shoulder and double tapped her screen—liking the post she had open. Ready to give the owner a piece of her mind, she whipped around. What she was met with was a familiar face.

“ _Jamie_?” Clover breathed. “What the hell are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Chuckling, he steadied himself against the pole of the car, swaying with the movements of the train. “Headed to work, same as you. How have you been?”

It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other. They’d gone their separate ways for a brief period following their PhD programs, but had rekindled upon learning they’d both been hired under Overwatch. They hadn’t had time to meet up in Zurich between the bustle of work and moving.

“Oh, just,” she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just… intern things, you know how it goes.”

Intern was putting it _lightly_. Clover felt more like a secretary than an intern. It was a good day if she got to spend more time reading samples than cleaning.

“Ah, you’re with O’Deorain, right?” He arched an eyebrow. “Angela’s told us about her—I heard you guys have been dropping like _flies._ ”

Clover wrinkled her nose, confused evident as she peered up at him. " _Angela_?”

“Oh—Dr. Ziegler. She lets us call her Angela.” He waved this off as though it were an afterthought. “Is it true, though? Is she that much of a nightmare to work with?”

Jamie’s prying unsettled her, for reasons she couldn’t place. “No, no… she’s just a touch abrasive is all. There’s… well, we had another intern walk out yesterday, so there’s two of us now. It’s not as awful as it seems, really, but I can understand why they’re frustrated—even I feel at my limit, but—“

The train jerked as it’s momentum slowed. They’d reached their platform. The doors opened with a _hiss_ , and several passengers began to swap places with those on the platform.

The two exited the train together, working their way through the crowd. “At your limit, huh?” Jamie continued for her. Frustration sparked deep in Clover as he didn’t drop it.

“Yeah, I mean… She’s got me on _coffee_ duty most days, Jamie.”

“Oh, Angela would _never_. Have you considered swapping to nanobiology? I’m sure we have an opening somewhere.”

 _Why does he say it like it’s a consolation prize?_ she thought, bitterly.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, a strained smile on her lips that she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Dr. O’Deorain isn’t bad, I assure you. Besides, her work is more than interesting enough to compensate for the minor frustrations.” The building was up ahead, and she was ready for the conversation to end.

He eyed her as he opened the glass doors to the headquarters for her. “If you say so, Cloves. If you ever need a good word, I can put one in for you.”

“Appreciate the thought, but I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

Jamie started to open his mouth to say something else, likely to comment on her snappy remark, but she cut him off. “I’m gonna run to the restroom before checking in, I’ll catch up with you later? We should grab lunch sometime.”

Jamie visibly eased at her words. “Of course. Text me—Later, Clover.”

As he walked off towards the check in, she sighed in relief.

Truthfully, the internship wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be. Her and Moira spent little time together aside from testing samples. They, along with the interns that remained, had been working on developing a new strain of healing serum. Or, rather, Moira was working on a new strain while the interns did mindless other tasks.

Clover found it absolutely boring.

She’d suspected that Moira did as well, because her heart didn’t seem into it. The work was thrust upon them by the organization. When negative results returned, she seemed irked, as though it was beneath her intelligence and had personally insulted her.

There were times that Clover would accidentally load results on Moira’s datapad that didn’t coincide with the tests they were constructing. At first, she hadn’t given much thought into looking into it. When it happened again, however, she brought it to her mentor’s attention. Dr. O’Deorain merely brushed it off as being from older research or a mix up with another department.

Clover hadn’t believed her.

As time went on, she was beginning to grow suspicious. She had a lingering feeling that Moira was digging into more than she was letting on. Clover had gone to glance at the results once more, out of pure curiosity, but found the files inaccessible. It wasn’t Clover’s place to pry but… curiosity and the cat, as they say.

Entering the bathroom, Clover set her bag onto the counter by the sink. 

She was washing her face when she heard sniffles coming from behind her. Freezing, she stared at her reflection before glancing back at the stalls.

A familiar face emerged, face red and tears streaking her face. She was another one of Moira’s interns, the only one that remained other than her.

“Hey— Are you alright—?”

The other woman scoffed, hastily brushing at her eyes. “I’m _fine._ Good luck with _that one_. She’s an absolute _wretch_.” The other intern shouldered past her, angrily ripping paper towels out of the machine on her way out.

Clover’s eyebrows furrowed. If she was finished, then that meant…

… she was the only intern left.

Clover bit down her anxiety at the realization. There were no other interns for Moira to distribute her displeasure between, meaning Clover would be enduring the brunt of her irritation. _Joy._

Clover prolonged her time in both the bathroom and locker room as long as she could before running late. She didn’t want to risk walking in on Moira in a bad mood from whatever argument had just ensued, or making it worse for that matter.

Entering the lab, she found her seemingly unphased by the prior interaction. She was bent over the centrifuge removing a set of vials, taking notes on her data pad like any other morning.

Clover nervously shifted her weight between her feet. She hadn’t been noticed yet, or at least hadn’t been given any indication that she had.

She went to grab an extra data pad to check the prior day’s work, only to be stopped. Moira cleared her throat and nudged her coffee mug towards the edge of the counter.

Frustrated, Clover bit her tongue before she said what she really thought. Walking over, she snatched up the mug before turning on her heel.

It wasn’t until she was halfway towards the door when her frustration came to a head.

“You can’t just walk all over everyone,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

The energy that formed in the air felt like a storm coming in from the sea. The tension was thick, and Moira’s silence was unnerving. The only sound was her nails clicking away at the screen of the datapad.

It was a long moment before she responded. “Will you be leaving as well, then, Dr. Haugen?”

No look, no apology. She expected Clover to put her tail between her legs and run, just as the others had.

 _You are_ not _a quitter, Clover Haugen,_ she reminded herself. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before turning around.

Crossing the room, she put Moira’s mug back onto the counter before standing across from her. She grabbed the datapad from her hands, forcing her to look up. To address her properly.

Moira’s eyes flared with irritation, but Clover held up a finger to keep her silenced.

“I have gone through _twelve years_ of schooling to be here, Dr. O’Deorain. I am _qualified_ to be in this lab, whether you believe so or not.” Clover realized her hand was shaking and quickly dropped them, wanting to appear confident. 

“I’m here to work under you, not to be your…. your _barista_. So _no,_ I will _not_ be leaving, doctor. Not until you physically throw me out of this lab yourself.”

Moira examined her, remaining quiet. The irritation ebbed from her eyes. With more gentleness than expected, she took her tablet back. “Well then. Come along.”

Clover seemed surprised that putting her foot down worked. “Where are we going? You’re not actually kicking me out, are you?”

An amused smile actually lifted the corners of Moira’s lips. Just barely. “No, Dr. Haugen. A small team was deployed on a reconnaissance mission early this morning, and they’ll be returning shortly. Staff is short, and I have personally been called to assist.” She glanced over Clover, noting her horrified expression. “Oh, don’t make that face. It’s a few scrapes. The time outside the lab will do you good. Now, come along.”

Curse her longer legs—she’d noticed that, when following Moira around, the woman had a tendency to walk briskly and with purpose. This left Clover nearly huffing and puffing in order to keep up. Did Moira not know what a casual stroll was?

Moira waved a well-manicured hand towards one of the beds. A curtain was drawn around it, obscuring her view of the patient. “I’d like you to go take care of that one.”

This was said as easily as she would tell her to go brew her coffee- which she had, several times. “Uhm… With all due respect, Dr. O’Deorain, I’m not that type of doctor…” She trailed off, having to fight the urge to shrink into herself as Moira’s dualtoned gaze turned upon her.

The hard stare was scrutinizing, daring to be tested. “I trust, Dr, Haugen,” she punctuated, her mood having shifted like the wind, “that you are beyond qualified to apply antiseptic and bandages to a cowboy.”

“Y-Yes, Doctor,” She agreed.

“Get to it, then.”

Clover huffed quietly once the woman was out of hearing distance. Her boss went through more swings than she thought possible. One moment, she was treated like any respectable coworker. The next… she was being spoken to like a child, or a personal assistant once more.

_Baby steps._

Irritated, Clover pursed her lips. There was nothing she hated more than being treated like a child. For God’s sake, she had a PhD. She lived on her own. She paid taxes! For her to be treated as lesser, well… it didn’t sit right with her.

She pushed past the curtain then, ready to get it over with. What she was met with surprised her.

Moira wasn’t kidding when she said cowboy.

The man was tanned, with a goatee that faded into an overgrown five-o-clock shadow. On the counter rest his hat. The garment had seen at least several years of wear, judging by the fading, flaking leather around the rim.

“Well now,” He drawled, sending the stereotype further. “Ain’t seen you before. You new here, sunshine?”

At the nickname, Clover felt a flush rising up her features. It must be as noticeable as it felt, because this elicited a laugh from the man.

“I take that as a yes.” He sat up, wincing as he went. Clover started to assist him, but he just chuckled and waved her off. “I’m alright, pumpkin’—can sit up on my own. Just some bruising.”

Frowning, Clover stepped back. “If you insist.” 

The two sat in silence for a minute as she washed her hands and gloved up. It felt awkward, being in a room with a stranger she was expected to treat. She supposed this was normal, though. Ugh. She didn’t know if she could have been a medical doctor. Test tubes didn’t exactly give her lip.

“Now, I’m not—“

“A _doctor_ doctor, yeah. I got that part.” He looked over at her, brown eyes kind compared to the red and blue ones that had been piercing her only moments before. “Don’t take what she says too seriously. Moira’s like that.”

“You’re not the first to say that,” she muttered. She returned to his side with a small tube of antiseptic, biogel and an assortment of adhesive bandages. “Do you know her, too, then?”

The young man shook his head. “Know is a strong implication. More like acquaintances through work.” 

“Oh.” Clover frowned. She’d been hoping to speak to someone that perhaps knew her a bit more than the others seemed to.

“Ya look disappointed.”

At this, she shrugged, turning to give him some courtesy as he began to remove his shirt. “Admittedly, it seems no one knows much about her. She’s very… reserved.”

“You’re giving her too much credit,” He grunted, pain seeping into his voice. Clover looked back over and winced as she noticed a bright purple bruise blossoming across his ribs. His tanned skin was occasionally marked with scars—some very old, some more recent. Most pressingly, there was a long graze along one of his ribs, above where the bruising had occurred.

“Did someone shoot you?!” Clover cried, struggling to keep her voice down. 

However, her patient didn’t seem to care, letting out a bark of a laugh before wincing again. The pain didn’t stop a smirk from gracing his features yet again. “Bold of you to assume this is the first time. I’ll be fine—Angela glanced it over and tended to it best she could. Said it wouldn’t need stitches.” 

Clover’s fingers hesitated, ghosting over the wound as she inspected it. _Angela._ She couldn’t escape the conversation of the other doctor that morning. 

“Though, I may need you to kiss it better.”

She made a disgusted noise as he continued, pressing some of the thick paste to a gloved finger. “Do you flirt with all the interns?”

“Oh, you’re an intern? No wonder, you’re just a baby.” He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, still smirking. 

“Excuse me! I’ll have you know I’m 32!” Clover pouted for a long moment, stewing over the comment.

He laughed, trying to keep the pain from his breath. “Okay, fine. You’re not my type anyway.”

Clover arched an eyebrow. “What is your type, then?” She asked, making polite conversation.

“Oh, you know… limber. A real gentleman, if I’m lucky.”

“Ah, a flirt _and_ vile, good to know.”

He gave a hearty laugh at her scolding. The sound was cut short with a hiss as the antiseptic was applied, followed by the biogel. Clover could feel his muscles tense under her fingers and tried to be more gentle. “Hey, you asked, I gave an answer.”

“ _Hmph_.”

“Awe, don’t pout now.” He turned his head towards her, those brown eyes still kind and twinkling. As Clover stared into them, she could tell he was still trying to bite down his pain, to act like it wasn’t bad. Act like he hadn’t been through it before. 

“Well I’ll have you know you’re not my type either,” came her biting retort after a while.

“You sayin’ that ‘cus you’re jealous?” teased the mystery man.

“No,” Clover carried on truthfully. She finished applying the gel and turned for a moment to wipe off her gloves. “I’m not too terribly fond of _gentlemen_.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Is that so? Well, you’ll fit right in here. You know what they say—birds of a feather.” He grew quiet for a moment as he watched her search for a bandage. “Now, I answered several questions for you. You wanna answer one for me?”

Clover eyed him suspiciously as she began to unwrap a larger bandage. “I actually answered all of yours so far, but so be it—depends on the question, though, cowboy.”

“Oh, cowboy?” The words feigned insult. “Takin’ after your boss already, I see. Why’s a cute girl like you doing working for the devil, anyway?”

An eyebrow shot up from behind Clover’s glasses. “That’s a bit harsh, wouldn’t you think?”

Shrugging, he lifted up his arm to give her room to apply the over-sized plaster. “Feels like it’s not too far from the truth.”

Gentle fingers smoothed down the adhesive, making sure there were no air bubbles or gaps in the bonding. “What can I say? She piques my interest.”

Finishing up, she stripped her gloves off into the garbage. This seemed to be the man’s queue to push himself up from the bed with an exaggerated groan.

“Well,” He swiped his discarded hat from the counter and placed it firmly back in place. “Just… be careful with that one. Something ain’t right with her.”

He clapped her on the shoulder, much like Reyes had done, almost sending her to the floor. God, what was with the men in Overwatch being absurdly heavy-handed?

“Wait,” She called before he could push the curtain aside. Fumbling, she stuck out one of her hands. “Haugen. Clover Haugen.”

His eyes softened again at the gesture. His hand dwarfed hers, but it was a comforting gesture. “Jesse McCree, pleasure.” He tipped his hat and offered her a wink. “Don’t hesitate to find me if you need anything, sunflower.”

After speaking with a nurse, Clover made way for the medical bay Moira was said to be working in. “Dr. O’Deorain?” She called through the curtain.

“What is it?”

Oh, she sounded more annoyed than before.

Clover parted the curtain and slipped in. Immediately, the tension in the air was noticeable. On the bed sat a blonde woman, looking tired as Moira worked swiftly to stitch a cut on her forehead. The geneticist’s expression was stern and clinical. It was evident in both the two’s body language and the thick silence that they both would rather be anywhere else.

Clover cleared her throat. “I patched up Mr. McCree.”

The unknown woman offered her a smile, one that was as exhausted as she seemed to be. “Thank you. I would have seen to him myself, but…” She gestured up to where Moira was patching her up. “It’s Dr. Haugen, correct?”

“Yes,” She extended her hand. “And you are…?”

“Ah, forgive me. I’m Dr. Ziegler— Please, call me Angela,” she insisted.

“Of course—you may call me Clover, then.”

Clover glanced at Dr. O’Deorain and noticed that her jaw seemed to be clenched. Her hands worked fast, but with unbridled precision, as though she had stitched wounds hundreds of times prior. They moved with a certain grace as she maneuvered the needle and string around using forceps. 

She hadn’t realized she was staring until Angela cleared her throat, startling Clover from her thoughts. “I’m sorry— what was the question, doctor?”

“Angela,” She corrected again, gently. “I was curious as to how your internship is proceeding.”

“Ah! It’s going very well,” she smiled. On the outside she was putting on her bubbly persona. Internally, however, she was panicking—what if she said the wrong thing in front of Moira?!

“Dr. O’Deorain is a lovely mentor, I’m honored to be able to continue my studies under her.”

A short hum of approval came from within Moira’s throat. Immediately, the noise sparked something within her. It was a gentle sound, one that the doctor typically didn’t use. “Dr. Haugen is bright. I, for one, am eager to see what she accomplishes.”

The praise made her feel dizzy. Where had it come from?

“Thank you, Dr. O’Deorain.”

“I'm happy to hear it,” Angela beamed. Her tone sounded genuine. “If you ever need a consultation with nanobiology, don’t hesitate to come ask, Clover.”

“Moira finished off the last stitch, gracefully snipping the thread as she went. “I would prefer if you didn’t try and snipe my intern out from under me, especially whilst I’m in the room, Dr. Zeigler.”

Angela’s smile seemed to thin at this. “Just offering collaboration between departments, Dr. O’Deorain.”

Clover glanced between the two of them, though remained silent. Everyone else called her Angela, and she seemed very… first name-basis with everyone. So why not Moira?

Moira gave a short hum again, this one signifying the end of the conversation rather than approval. She applied a thin amount of biotic gel across the wound before placing a nonstick bandage. “It shouldn’t scar over. Be more careful next time.” She tossed the tools in a tub to be washed and disposed of the needle and extra thread appropriately.

“Thank you,” Angela replied politely, though Clover sensed that even she was holding back a biting response. “I’ll do my best. Lovely meeting you, Clover.” 

“You as well, Angela. Have a nice day.”

She left Clover and Moira alone. Silence hung in the air, only interrupted by the running of water as Moira scrubbed her hands.

“I meant it,” Moira spoke, shutting off the faucet.

Clover was pulled from her thoughts. “Pardon?”

Moira dried her hands, leaning against the counter. “I’m eager to see what you accomplish. I must admit, I’m… stern, as I’m sure you’ve noted.” She tossed the paper towels into a nearby trash can. “I apologize for my behavior this last month. You were correct—you have worked for your place in my lab. I trust you continue to work hard in order to keep it.”

She did her best not to gawk as she was given an apology. “Well… I was being honest, before. I’m honored to be working under you, and I’ve enjoyed the last month for the most part.”

They began walking back towards the lab. “I know I can be hard to work with,” Moira admitted, hands in her coat pockets. “Few have such strong determination to stick around.”

“Many say I’m hard–headed, so I suppose that helps.”

Moira smirked ever so slightly. “Is that so? Well, just make sure you put that to good use then.”

“Of course,” she smiled back.


	3. Chapter 3

The following weeks, the relationship between Moira and Clover began to improve. It was far from perfect, but the lab provided a consistently civil work environment, and Clover wasn’t treated like a lackey _as_ often.

Didn’t mean she didn’t still run errands every few days.

They’d nearly ran out of the healing serum they were modifying. Moira sat at her desk in the lab, pondering their current dilemma as Clover stood by.

“Formally, I would submit a request that would be approved in two to three days, which would render our current samples useless. The _easiest_ way to get a hold of more of the serum is to borrow it from the medical bay, but they won’t just give it over.” Moira used the tip of her shoe to sway back and forth in her chair, pen to her lips. Clover thought her adorable when deep in thought.

 _Adorable? She’s my_ boss!

Unaware of the other’s sudden panic, Moira’s gaze flicked to Clover. The sudden attention after such a mortifying realization stunned her. Moira rapped her pen to her lips once, twice more before leveling it with Clover. 

“You may be able to retrieve it, though. You’re new—they shouldn’t recognize you.”

Blinking, Clover tried to process what she was implying. “Excuse me?”

“Go down to the medical bay and borrow some—one tube should be sufficient for now.”

A hot flush worked its way up her neck and towards her ears. “Are you insinuating that I _steal_ for you?! No, never!”

  
  


It was easy enough to enter the infirmary—it was unlocked during the same hours as the building itself. A key card wasn’t needed until after hours.

It was a slow day— as most days were. More specialized teams, she’d learned from Reyes, would go straight to the hospital if in more critical condition. Which of course made sense. The medical bay served as more of a medical hub for the staff and their families.

Look like she belonged, that’s what Moira had said. Should be easy… all she had to do was walk with her head up and not hesitate. Find the serum and head back to the lab. She wasn’t stealing from her work, nope!

Clover shouldn’t have agreed to it. She doubted she’d get fired for taking the serum from the infirmary, no, but she didn’t want to be reprimanded so close to being hired and be immortalized as a thief for the rest of her career there. It would be absolutely _mortifying_.

Slinking around, she occasionally opened a drawer in search of the substance. She’d glance behind to make sure none of the nurses even realized she existed.

However, as she moved towards the exam rooms, a familiar voice made her cringe.

“Clover! What happened to not being a _doctor_ doctor, hmm?”

Clover turned around, smiling anxiously as she realized eyes were on her as she was caught. She scuttled into the exam room quickly before anyone said anything.

“What are you doing here Jesse?” She hissed. Glancing over, she realized they weren’t alone.

On the edge of the bed sat a young man—well, she assumed he was young. It was evident he was a majority cybernetics, even under the baggy hoodie he wore. She couldn’t see much of his face, but she could meet his dark eyes.

“Waitin’ on my partner here to get his checkup.” Jesse grinned cheekily at the other male. “This is the new one I was telling you about. Clover, Genji. Genji, Clover.”

She raised her eyebrows at the pleasantries. “Genji? Nice to meet you, I’ve heard quite a bit from Reyes.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he responded. Soft spoken, but even his voice had a twinge of cybernetics to it. “I’ve heard a lot from Jesse as well.”

The cowboy nudged her. “What are you doing back here anyway? More errands?”

Clover shook her head, glancing back at the door. “No, I… Moira sent me to get some healing serum. Do you know where it would be?”

Jesse raised his eyebrows at her. “Isn’t she supposed to put in a request for that?”

Clover sighed, frustrated. “Yes, but apparently we need it _today_ , so if you could just—“

“Woah!” He held up his hands. “No need to hiss. Here—“

Turning, he opened several drawers and began to dig for them. “Aha!”

As he was turning to show it to her, Angela suddenly appeared in the door frame. “Oh! You’ve got quite an audience today, Genji. Is something wrong?” She furrowed her brow at the interesting assortment of characters. 

“Jesse… what are you holding behind your back?”

“Nothin’ Angela,” he assured her with a grin. He held up his hands for emphasis—empty.

Narrowing her eyes, she glanced over him a few times. She seemed to decide he was being truthful when she turned to Clover instead. “And you, Dr. Haugen? Did you need something?”

“Oh! No, I just came for, uh—“ she looked around the office. her eyes landed on a jar. “Band-aids!” She explained. “Cut my finger, paper cut, stings. Just wanna make sure I’m sterile in the lab! And then I heard McCree here, and he was introducing me to Genji. Nice to meet you again!”

“You as well,” he nodded. 

“How fast can you O.K. him, doc?” Jesse interjected. “Reyes expects us on drop ship in thirty, and you know how cranky he gets when we’re late.”

“I could work faster if you would let me get to work, _Jesse.”_ She playfully shooed them from the room before shutting the door after them.

Clover pushed her hair back, frustrated. “Now what am I supposed to do?” She puffed out her cheeks slightly in irritation.

Jesse whistled, flipping something into the air. “I ‘unno, tulip, what are you _gonna_ do?”

She looked over, wide eyed, noting the bottle of healing serum he was juggling. “Jesse!” She grabbed for it, but he quickly pulled it away, holding it up and using his height to his advantage.

Laughing, he pushed her back as she tried to grab for it once more. “Settle, missy! Where’s your manners?”

“I am older than you!” She hissed. Clover had developed a ritual of sitting with Reyes in the break room every Friday. In those reprieves she’d learned quite a lot— both about the organization and its members.

“And I’m taller.” He arced the bottle in the air, caught it, and proudly offered it to her with a slight bow. “What do you say?”

Clover looked up at him, eyes soft with gratitude. “Thank you, Jesse. I owe you.”

He tipped his hat at her. “Don’t sweat it, anything for a friend.”

Arriving back at the lab, she noticed _two_ mugs on the desk, and a lack of a certain ginger scientist. When she disappeared, she was typically on a smoke break downstairs. Moira hadn’t shared the fact that she smoked but it was evident when she returned smelling like a chimney each time.

If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed Moira ran off caffeine and cigarettes. Perhaps she did, and her short lunch breaks were more for show than sustenance.

Clover peeked into the mugs, noting how both were filled. She arched her eyebrow but didn’t question it.

She wouldn’t have had time, anyway. The lab door slid open, causing her to wheel around.

Moira was crossing the room towards her. In her arms, she held a fabric and mesh carrier. 

“Ah, you’ve returned.” She stepped around Clover to set the carrier onto the exam table. “That one is for you. I apologize if it’s not to your liking; I assumed with all of the pastries you bring in that you would prefer something sweet.”

Blinking, Clover looked down at the mugs again. “You got me coffee?” The thought was foreign to her.

“Do you not drink it?”

“No!” Clover waved her hands, brushing the thought away. “I do! I just… didn’t expect it, thank you.” She took the spare mug, figuring Moira had made her own in her regular cup. “What do you have there?”

Moira looked down at her before looking back towards the carrier. “A pet project of sorts,” she explained. Unzipping the tote, she allowed the flimsy ‘door’ to lay flat on the table.

As she realized what was inside, Clover gasped in excitement. “ _Konijn_?! Dr. O’Deorain, why did you bring a rabbit into the lab?!”

Moira scooped up the animal, taking care to properly support it. The rabbit didn’t seem to mind—in fact, it began to sniff at Moira’s manicured fingers before deciding to offer ample kisses.

“Research, of course,” she responded. Moira places the creature back onto the table, allowing it to move around. It’s nose twitched as it began to sniff at Clover’s fingers. She offered a tentative petting before her fingers were also chosen for affectionate licks.

She nodded in understanding, pondering it over. There were certain things animal testing greatly improved upon—biology and genetics one of them. There were research codes of ethics in place for that reason. “I’m sure, I just… did not realize Overwatch allowed such experimentation.”

Moira pursed her lips. “There are many things Overwatch does not condone. I assure you, though, that I have the department’s approval. They’re granting us five rabbits to work with.”

Clover sipped at her coffee, watching the rabbit stick it’s head back into the tote, perhaps looking for food. “Alright. I’m assuming about the health serum? They’re not injured, no? I’m not going to purposely injure an animal for this. All do respect, I mean.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Moira’s long nose wrinkled at the end as she made a disgusted expression. “I’d never ask that of you— hell, I would never purposely injure them.” She reached down and gently scratched between the creature’s ears. “They’re… like family to me, the sweet darlings.”

Clover’s eyebrows raised at affection she was displaying towards the rabbit. Heterochromatic eyes were uncharacteristically soft as she looked at the animal.

It took a few moments for her to realize Clover was staring. As she raised an eyebrow at her boss, Moira snapped out of her stupor and cleared her throat, looking away again.

“Yes, so. They are not _outwardly_ injured, but they would like me to test the serum _genetically_. They each have genetic diseases–namely cataracts, osteoporosis, things of the like. Attempt to see if genetically altering the gene with the serum will assist in repairing the damage.”

As Moira continued to explain, her eyebrows slowly knit together. Her thoughts traced back to the mysterious results she’d glanced through on the datapad weeks prior. “How long have you been working on this?”

The interjection gave Moira pause. She looked at the animal in her arms for a moment before responding truthfully. “Several months now. I’m well aware you’ve seen my notes.”

Clover nodded. “I have. How far along are you into the study?” She set her coffee aside, moving to take the rabbit from Moira.

“So far… very minimal results. I need to draw more blood for lab work, if you’d assist me.”

“Of course.” Clover gently bounced the rabbit like one would a child. Precious baby…

“I only have experience with lab rats from undergrad, but I’m a fast learner. Just show me what you need done.” She smiled up at the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke: animals are scared of Moira  
> Woke: she loves all of them and they love her
> 
> My fic, my head canons >:)


	4. Chapter 4

Dumbfounded, Clover stared at the paper laid out before her. She looked up towards Moira, who only cleared her throat and made a gesture around her mouth. It was then that she realized she had a noodle hanging past her lips. Embarrassed, she hastily sucked it up before dabbing her napkin to the area. 

“What is this?”

Moira sighed, drawing up a chair. “I assumed you would know a menu when offered one, Dr. Haugen.”

As she often did when Moira chided her, Clover blushed—all the way to the tips of her ears. “Well, yes, but…” she looked down at her soup, which was still steaming, “I brought dinner with me.”

Moira didn’t make an effort to hide the distaste that crossed her features at this. “ _Dia ár sábháil_ , Clover, it’s 2066. There are innumerable options for fine cuisine, yet you insist on eating this microwaveable _cardboard_ daily.”

The use of her given name made butterflies awaken inside of Clover. It was the first time the woman had used it, and it sounded beautiful falling from her lips. It was too late before she realized she was staring, quickly scrambling to compose herself and respond.

“It’s not that bad,” She assured her. Looking down at the cup, frowning at the bland packaging.“It’s inexpensive, too. Filling for the price.”

Moira sighed in exasperation and pushed the menu closer to her. “Really? You need real food. Just let me know what you desire and I’ll have it ordered.”

Clover eyed her before timidly taking the menu. It was from a local Japanese restaurant that provided a variety of sushi and teppenyaki options.

Upon seeing the pricing, her eyes almost boggled out of their sockets. She shook her head quickly and pushed the menu back to Moira, “I can’t afford this.”

“You’re not paying for it.” Idly, she scrolled through her datapad, one long leg hooked over the other. “You’ve been doing an exemplary job, and I’m asking you to stay considerably later than you normally would. Please accept this as a token of gratitude.”

Clover sheepishly looked back across the text again. If she insisted…

She passed back the menu once more, requesting chicken, vegetables and fried rice. Simple. Cheap. Something she knew she liked and would be able to take home. Lord knew that if she left it in the employee fridge it would disappear overnight. 

Moira stood, plucked the menu from her fingers and tucked it under her arm. Clover looked down at her noodles, prepared to take another bite, and found that whisked away as well, leaving her to pout.

“Honestly, do you even know the salt content of one of these?” Moira scowled at the cup as she examined it. Shaking her head, she disappeared with the contraband.

“... but it’s cheap,” Clover muttered under her breath.

After around an hour, the takeout arrived. Moira brought it in and began to distribute their respective meals. As her box was set in front of her, Clover thanked her.

“Of course,” Moira responded, sitting across from her once more. “You’d be of no use to me if you went and died of hypertension.”

“I’m sure I’m years away from that,” Clover scoffed. Immediately after such a claim, she promptly drowned her rice in soy sauce. While doing so she didn’t catch the fond quirk that came to Moira’s lips.

Moira took the time to properly section her food until she found fit. Before her was rice, an assortment of sushi, and a steak which color worried the daylights out of her.

“What’s got your brow in a knot?”

Clover was drug from her thoughts. “Hmm? Oh…” embarrassed and flushed at being caught, she poked at her rice as somewhere for her eyes to go. “I was just thinking, don’t mind me.”

“About?” Moira intoned, slicing her medium rare steak into thin strips.

“About you.”

Her honesty finally coaxed the scientist to look at her fully. “About me?” Amusement was set in Moira’s tone. “What of me?”

“Ah,” Clover shook her head, looking down and poking in her own rice. “Just… I didn’t expect such an appetite, I suppose,” She gestured to Moira’s meal. “I’m sorry. That’s rude of me.”

“Well,” Moira started, taking her pair of chopsticks and swiping up a piece of sushi. “I find often that I’m not as others expect.”

Clover didn’t need her degree to realize she’d struck a nerve. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I suppose I’m more surprised you look so good, I could never.”

She didn’t understand why Moira was now chuckling to herself. Several seconds later it dawned on her that she’d just complimented her bosses appearance. Embarrassed, Clover shoved a forkful of rice into her mouth before she could say anything else mortifying.

“I understand what you mean, then. I’ve always been lanky, for lack of a more graceful word.” She relaxed, returning to the meticulous dissection of her steak. “Being the tallest girl in secondary had its ups and downs.”

Clover tilted her head, interested. Moira typically didn’t open up about her past. “I think your form is very graceful, even if you consider it lanky. Unique.” She shoved another round of rice into her mouth. _Shut up!_

“What kind of perks did it bring?” She asked, trying to dig more into Moira’s life. She was interested in the woman’s experiences growing up—what set of events led to that moment? What made her who she was?

Moira poked around, bringing a piece of pickled ginger to her face to inspect. “Oh, the usual. Reaching top shelves, being able to see during events.” She picked at her ginger, and Clover decided there was a joke in there somewhere that wasn’t worth mentioning. “I played tennis for a short time.”

“Valuable advantages,” Clover agreed. Compared to Moira, she was a short 5’5” compared to the woman’s 6’4”—and that was when she was wearing flats. Her mind trailed off, wondering if Moira ever wore heels…

Why was her brain so engrossed with the woman in front of her?

“Tennis, huh?”

Moira hummed in acknowledgement, swallowing a piece of sashimi. “Yes. Played for several years. My mother _insisted_ on an extracurricular, and nothing else caught my eye. Did you partake in sports?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I spent most of my time indoors. I enjoyed gardening—and still do. Wow, you should see my apartment. Plants _everywhere._ ”

“Interesting,” Moira nodded. She turned her attention back on her data pad, focused on data once more.

As they delved into their respective meals, they settled into a comfortable silence as well. As she ate, Clover thought up a slew of questions to ask, seeing as Moira was in a good mood. It was rare that the woman was so talkative about nothing in particular—namely herself. She wanted to make sure her inquiries would be less of a bombardment and more… casual. Typical coworker talk.

“Where are you from again?” she asked after a while. A safe question.

Moira was multitasking, working as she ate. Always working. “Dublin,” she responded, not looking up from her datapad as she brought a piece of sushi up, skillfully wielding her chopsticks without having to focus on them. Something caught her eye and the food hovered for several moments before she finally ate it.

Clover pushed her rice around. “Is it nice? I mean—I’ve only seen London regarding the British Isles. I didn’t get to travel much while in school—busy bee, and all that. What’s it like?”

“Damp,” Moira scoffed under her breath. With a shake of her head, she continued. “It’s lovely, weather aside. I suppose everyone has their qualms about their hometown. Where are you from, again? Amsterdam?”

Clover shook her head. “No. Utrecht.” Her eyes seemed to light up as the name fell from her lips, her Dutch accent picking up. “Beautiful little city. I used to enjoy walking along the canals with my mother…”

“Do you plan to return home to see your parents for the holidays, then?”

“Oh, no. Maybe.” Clover shook her head once more, staring at her food, a touch forlorn.

“It’s just my father and I—my mother passed a few years ago. I don’t… I haven’t been home much these last few years.”

Moira stopped typing long enough to look up. Her eyes flicked over Clover before she cleared her throat. “My condolences, then.”

Clover waved her off. “It’s okay. It’s… been long enough.” 

Not long enough that it didn’t sting.

Moira hesitated before returning to the datapad. “Pardon my prying, but why is it that you don’t return? You sounded fond of your home.”

Clover was quiet for a minute, poking around through her food. She wasn’t sure what to say, feeling awkward about sharing so much of her past. Perhaps that’s why Moira never opened up. Silence fell over the two as Clover tried to piece together her thoughts.

“My father doesn’t remember me,” Clover whispered. “He has Alzhimers. The last time I saw him, he couldn’t remember my name, or who I was.”

“It… hurt. Though I know it’s not his fault, it still hurts. He’s all I’ve got and he can’t even remember if he loves me.” She sighed and speared a chunk of chicken. “Not to mention it claimed his mother, and her brother. Runs in the family.”

She was well aware of Moira’s burning gaze, but couldn’t bear to meet it.

“Is that why you majored in neurogenetics?”

With a sigh, Clover nodded. She closed her takeout container, finding her appetite waning. “Yes. There’s a way to remove the gene, I know it. I don’t want others to fall to a similar fate.”

Clover fell back against her chair. Letting out a slow breath, she knit her fingers together and stared down at them.

“... _I_ don't want to end up like that.”

She didn’t want to look up at her. Clover worried she’d made the conversation awkward by over sharing. However, Moira spoke up.

“I think that’s a noble cause.” She clicked the tablet off, giving Clover her full attention. “You are very bright, Clover, and I believe you’ll make headway in the field.”

Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment from the praise. Her hands shook as she opted to clean her glasses, to busy herself. “T-Thank you. Enough about me—why do _you_ study genetics?”

Moira waved her chopsticks absently. “To further our understanding of human evolution,” she said as though it were plain as day. She took a moment to pick out her next piece of sushi before resuming. 

“Thousands of years… it took thousands of years for us to advance to such a brilliant state. What, pray tell, can we become with unbridled tenacity?”

Clover leaned forward onto the table, linking her fingers to rest her chin upon. “Hmm…What do you think we could become?”

A smile quipped at the edge of her lips, sushi hovering in front of them. 

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really over here just spitting out chapters huh


	5. Chapter 5

The time ticked by slowly, creeping along into later hours of the night. Clover was left to put the tissue samples away into storage alone, as Moira had disappeared when convenient. Typically when she did so, she came back smelling like smoke. Of course, she could disappear for a smoke break when she deemed fit, leaving Clover to deal with the more uneventful work.

Clover—typically meticulous Clover—perhaps from exhaustion or the pressing need to catch the last train, found herself rushing the process. On the counter next to her was a metal canister, opened, filled with liquid nitrogen. The samples were to be organized on a rack and lowered into the substance before being sealed, airtight, and placed in an inconspicuous, poorly labeled fridge (one time, one time she puts a drink in there for convenience sake and gets reprimanded—).

“Shit!" Clover gasped as she fumbled an unsealed sample. It landed in the liquid nitrogen, which began to bubble violently as it started to freeze.

Oh, Moira would have words about that bout of incompetence.

Clover stared forlornly into the liquid, their hard work wasted by her butterfingered moment. As she tried to piece together how, exactly, she was to tell Moira about her little accident, something curious began to happen.

Confusion washed over Clover. Quickly, with a pair of clamped forceps, she fished the sample from the container and held it up to the light. 

Typically, tissue samples, when chilled, either paled or retained their color, as they were not alive. This, however, had reacted as though it were alive. Instead of the pale pink it had been before, it was now a brilliant purple, beyond what normal skin would have tinted to even if the living body had received hypothermia.

Clover swiped up a glass slide, gingerly placing the sample between the two planes. Looking through the eyepiece, she focused the microscope until she could get a clear idea of what was going on.

“Did you get those samples prepped?”

Clover held up a hand to shush Moira, who had returned. “Something happened. Come look at this.”

She pulled away to make room, and Moira leaned over to peer at the sample. At first she was quiet, examining the sample, before patting around for her datapad.

“ _Dar an leabhar_ ,” She breathed, seemingly enraptured by what she was staring at. “How did you do this? What caused this?”

Clover was shocked by the way the words came out. Moira didn’t sound mad in the slightest—she sounded as though Clover just told her she had won the lottery.

“This… is helpful?” She looked at the slide, confused. “I… dropped it in the nitrogen,” Clover explained, sliding the tablet so that it touched Moira’s fingers. She didn’t respond to this, too enamored with examining the slide. “I pulled it out, and… it was like this.”

Moira pulled away to glance sideways at Clover. “Typically, I’d hound you from hell and back for such a mistake, but…” she looked back at the slide, “...this… the bonds of the serum, they’ve broken and… reformed. Grab another dose.”

She passed the biotic serum to Moira. What the woman did next was unexpected—she uncapped the vial and poured the honeyed contents into the nitrogen canister.

The chemical began to react violently, as it typically did with any room-temperature substance. It released a thin veil of fog which ghosted over the counter’s surface. Both women leaned forward, almost butting heads as they peered into the canister.

The serum beaded up, clumping together as most syrupy substances did when frozen in such a way. However, the yellow hue had inverted to a bright, almost fluorescent purple. Using a pair of tongs, Moira fished out the glass-like substance and dropped it onto a metal tray.

Several long, silent moments passed as mentor and intern laid their gaze upon their discovery. Exposed to the tepid air of the room, the frozen substance began to melt rapidly, oozing out into a maple syrup consistency while retaining its hue.

“... so,” Clover took the tongs from Moira’s nimble fingers and poked it, examining the thick consistency. “... what do you want me to do with it?”

Upon asking the question, she looked up to Moira for insight and felt a chill creep along her spine at her expression.

There was a hunger in her eyes, one she hadn’t yet seen. She was watching with keen interest as the substance dropped from the tongs back to the tray, the barest hint of a smirk quirked at the edge of her mouth.

Instead of answering her, Moira grabbed for a rack of test tubes before pulling it closer. She also nabbed a portable Bunsen burner.

“Allow me—“ Using a fresh pipette, she collected as much of the sample as she was able. She dispensed it into the tube before promptly placing it above the burner.

As it came closer to room temperature it proceeded to properly liquefy. Not too long after being exposed to heat, it began to simmer within the glass.

Clover cautiously sidestepped as it began to fully boil. Concerned, she tugged at Moira’s sleeve, urging her to step back. The taller was fixated on the serum’s voluble nature.

“Moira,” she hissed, tugging harder. “Step back—!”

Yanking on her coat, Clover managed to drag Moira from her position. Just in time— with a _pop_ , the vile shattered into a million pieces, most sprinkling the counter top.

Violet flames erupted from where the liquid met the burner, and black smoke began coiling towards the ceiling. What hadn’t hit the burner steamed, creating a noxious fume.

Moira swore and pushed Clover away this time, barking at her to get the vents going. Removing her coat, she began to swat at the flames in order to smother them.

It only took a few minutes for them to clean up the mess.

“Are you okay?” Clover asked, finally looking over her properly, making sure she hadn’t caught any shrapnel.

Moira sighed, examining her singed coat, sticking her fingers through one of the new holes. “Yes, thank you. I apologize for my carelessness.” She cleared her throat, and Clover noted a flush to her cheeks—embarrassed?

“Don’t tell anyone, if you would. I’ll never hear the end of it least it reaches Gabriel’s ears.” She wrinkled her nose, freckles shifting from the expression.

Clover snorted softly. “Of course not. It happens—just glad the fire alarm didn’t go off.” She looked over at the liquid nitrogen canister, where the last of the violet serum remained. “Dispose of it?”

“No,” Moira responded quickly, startling Clover. “Cap it and put it in the sample refrigerator. I’ll tend to it tomorrow.”

Frowning, she looked over, seeing Moira folding her coat neatly. “Are you sure? It’s quite volatile—"

“I’m sure,” Moira firmly stated. “Put them away, go home, get some rest. I’ve kept you long enough for the evening.”

Nodding, Clover did as she told, even if reluctantly. Moira took the opportunity to dip out for what she presumed was another smoke break.

 _What does she want it for?_ she thought while dropping it into a sterile container. _It could have blown her hand off if she hadn’t been careful. Is she so curious she’d put herself in harm’s way...?_

Clover frowned at the purple syrup. She tilted the vial, watching as it shimmered in the halogen lights.

In her few months working under Moira, she hadn’t seen something pique her interest as much as her little accident had. 

Shaking her head, she labeled them before storing them away in the fridge, forgetting about it for the evening. 

Truth be told she _was_ tired, and it was a mystery that could be addressed in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I just posted but 😔 what else am I supposed to do during this pandemic than write? The last chapter was pretty dialogue heavy so I hope this one was a bit more ~descriptive~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the happiest with this one but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ it happens.

Bass pounded through her ears—she could feel it filling her chest, and her head and body swayed along to the 4/4 beat.

Clover twirled, being careful of the animal in her arms. The rabbits had grown used to her presence, and she theirs. It was early morning and Moira hadn’t arrived yet much to the intern’s surprise. Typically she’d already have been working for several hours. Yet, Clover hadn’t found a trace of her in the lab.

While tending to the rabbits, she had opted to listen to music to make cleaning their cages go by faster.

They were officially labeled by numbers, but Clover broke her silent rule of _don’t get attached_ by giving them each names; Cream, Thumper, Olive, Sage, and Arugula (she really liked her leafy greens!)

Arugula— or Argie, as Clover like to call her,— was the first one Moira had introduced to her, when she explained her research. In the time since then, Argie had completely warmed up to Clover. More than once she had given an enthusiastic binkie before accepting bananas as a treat.

Clover opened her cage for routine cleaning, continuing to hum along to the music in her earbuds. However, Arugula startled, kicking away in terror to the corner of the cage.

“Oh!” Clover held her hands out, trying to settle the poor creature. “Argie, it’s me! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The rabbit focused half of her vision on her handler, whale-eyed. She was breathing rapidly—obviously terrified of something.

“Hey…” Clover removed her earbuds. “You okay, sweetheart?” Frowning, she grabbed the premade salad from her cart that each rabbit was to receive daily. Moving slow as to now startle her again, she placed the tray in the cage. Clover offered her a banana from the top. “Want a treat?”

She snatched her hand back as she suddenly ran around the cage in a scurry, kicking her food everywhere.

As Clover caught sight of the other half of her, she recoiled once more, now the one in fear.

Her other ear hadn’t had a dark mark before, and neither had her paws. It almost seemed to be _spreading_ , shifting and _coiling._ The more it spread, the more alarmed Arugula became, seeming to make the entire process _hasten_.

Suddenly, she bolted at the wall of the cage. Clover cried out, flinching, not wanting to watch her ram straight into it.

However, she never heard the collision. Still grimacing, Clover peeked one eye open, not wanting to see the worse inside the habitat.

She didn’t have to worry about a gruesome scene, because the cage was now empty.

The sound of nails on linoleum caused her to snap her gaze away from the empty cage. Argie was running in circles on the lab floor.

She seemed _better_ suddenly, interested in her surroundings. Clover managed to scoop her up before she could start gnawing on the computer wires.

Clover held her up gazing into her eyes. Her nose vibrated like normal as she sniffed at the human. A kiss was offered before she tried nibbling at her sleeves.

“What the _fuck?_ ” She breathed.

Of course, it was the opportune moment for Moira to enter the lab, sporting two mugs of coffee and two paper bags.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” she commented, heading over. “Everything alright? Did something happen?”

Clover stared at her, mouth agape as she tried to piece together a thought.

“No,” she decided, closing her mouth. She forced a smile and bounced Argie gently. “No, just… thought I saw a spider. Ended up being a little pellet, stinky girl.” To sell the lie, she gently pet between the creature's floofy ears.

Upon spotting Moira, Argie attempted to dig between Clover’s arm and rib cage. Before she got too squirmy or stressed herself to the point of _whatever_ she had done before happened again, Clover returned her to her habitat.

Moira gave no indication that she had caught onto Clover’s fib. She offered both the coffee and bag. Peeking into it, Clover realized it was a muffin.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten already.”

Clover blinked at the pastry before blinking at Moira, a touch dumbfounded. “I haven’t, no. I… appreciate it, thank you.”

“Mm.” Moira sipped her coffee. “Of course.” She pulled out her own food, a poppy seed bagel, and got situated at her desk.

Clover stared at the back of her head, stuck in place. She looked down at the mug and muffin, hesitant to try them.

Argie had been _terrified,_ and… how had she gotten through the bars? They were too narrow for her to get a foot through, let alone her entire body.

What had Moira done to the rabbits behind her back?

...and how far was she willing to go?

She’d picked up on Moira’s schedule. She may not realize it, but her smoke breaks were like clockwork (give or take ten minutes).

She abandoned her computer in lieu of standing, stretching with a few unforgiving _pops_ of her spine, and announced she’d be back. Clover smiled at her as she left the room.

As soon as the door slid closed, she flung herself across the lab before the computer could time out. More aggressive than necessary, she shook the mouse to ensure it wasn’t going to log out before she had a chance to look around.

Did she feel guilty? Of course—she was trying to snoop through her boss’s notes!

The guilt multiplied tenfold the longer she searched. She went through innumerable files, trying to find _anything_ not quite related to the study. Clover sorted by newest, checked her recently edited files, and dug through folders with no luck.

She was careful to return the desktop to how it was, to appear untouched. She was about to give up when she glanced down, noting that Moira had left her datapad on the wireless charger.

Hesitantly, she pulled it closer, as though it would bite her. The tablet teetered on the charging dock before falling a centimeter with a clatter onto the table.

 _This is wrong on so many levels,_ she thought, turning it on.

The screen illuminated instantly. The background was a plain, generic scenery photo that most tablets came with preinstalled. 

Of course, it was asking for a passcode. Clover wrinkled her nose and tossed it back on the charger. What had she expected? That she’d leave such an important piece of equipment unlocked at all times?

So, she waited. Full of anxiety, but patiently.

When she returned, Moira resumed her prior position at the computer. She checked a few windows before moving on, heading to check on the prior day’s samples.

Clover bit her thumb nail as she side-eyed Moira’s, watching her move through the lab. She was attempting to look busy herself with electronic documents on her own tablet. 

It took _ages_ for Moira to return to the desk for her datapad. Clover moved in close, eyes glued to the screen as she came up around her.

“More coffee?” She offered, holding her own mug.

“Mm, it would be appreciated.” She keyed in the passcode, quick from muscle memory, but Clover still managed to catch it.

She swiped Moira’s empty coffee mug, waved it at her with a forced smile, and headed out to refill it. 

As soon as the lab door slid shut behind her, she stepped off around the corner. It took a moment of shuffling with their mugs for her to properly dig out a pen and scrawl the numbers on her arm. Her coat sleeve fell, obscuring the numbers.

_So wrong._

  
  


“Would you like anything from the cafeteria, Clover?”

Moira’s voice startled her. The woman’s presence had her on edge the entire morning. As her hand came to rest on her shoulder, the hairs on the back of her neck raised.

“No, thank you,” she responded, sticking her nose back to the blood samples she was taking from Oliver. He seemed normal, as had the others. So far it was only Argie…

Moira withdrew her hand, seeming to notice her discomfort. “Well… If you change your mind, you’re welcome to page me.”

“Thank you.”

Alone once more, Clover hastily finished collecting samples. Thankfully she had been on her last rabbit and, after freeing him from the ‘bunny burrito’ position, put him back in his cage with extra hay.

It felt improper to sit at Moira’s desk, even if it wasn’t _officially_ labeled as such. Yet, she had a sick curiosity.

She shouldn’t be accusing her boss of out-of-bounds testing, right? Maybe she had just been tired…

...yet, she knew she hadn’t hallucinated. There was no probable way a rabbit could have slipped through those bars, and… well, the smoke was all too familiar, reminding her of a certain accident weeks prior. 

Sliding up her sleeve, she checked the passcode again. By that point she was sure she could have recited it in her dreams.

The home screen loaded up. Nothing out of place—it was like the one she used. Typical folders for notes, saved studies, access to Overwatch archives. Work-related stuff.

Clover flipped through Moira’s notes, scanning quickly. As she had with the computer she attempted to search dates, keywords, modified documents. Alas, she couldn’t find anything pertaining to _rabbits_ or _serum_ that yielded anything besides their official research.

Frustrated, she swiped rapidly through the pages of the home screen. She checked the open apps, noticing that only one was running in the background.

Pulling it up, it appeared to be a generic notes app—yet, it wasn’t one that came preinstalled on the model.

It required a passcode to access as well. Clover’s fingers hovered over the keys, unsure.

Was she any better than Jamie, or Jesse, or Angela? Those who held distrust for Moira and her hunger for knowledge?

She stared at her reflection in the screen for a long moment, guilt twisting in her stomach.

Then, she put in the passcode.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter I feel was necessary for the next chapter. :))

**Specimen A;** _Rabbit, brown._ _Physically sound. Predisposition to epilepsy._

**28 Nov., 2066**

22:47 _; Administered altered bio-serum (1ml)._

22:56; _fatigued, slowed breathing. Drop in body temperature. Pain level indeterminable. Potential stress response._

23:30; _Stable enough to bite. Decided to go home for the evening. Note: Order more plasters._   
  


Based on the date, it appeared Moira had begun her underhanded testing the week prior. Clover furrowed her eyebrows, continuing to swipe through the document.

**29 Nov., 2066**

07:20 _; No discernible change._

08:45; _Starving—normal, or side effect? Similarities to steroids? Unlikely, but not impossible._

21:12; _Chewed through my charger while performing exam. Continued peak physical well-being._

With an irritated noise, she changed documents. The next focused entirely on her findings with the serum itself.

Not much to be noted. Combustible, as they had discovered. It preferred stability at lower temperatures.

She didn’t get very far. The tablet clattered to the desk as the door hissed open. Clover stood too fast, and the chair rolled back into one of the counters, causing a louder commotion than necessary.

Confusion crossed Moira’s features at the display. However, her eyebrows knit together, her lips pursing as she realized what she had walked in on.

“I don’t believe there’s a viable reason for you to be digging through my work, Dr. Haugen.”

Clover’s face paled.

Swallowing down her anxieties, she cleared her throat. “I know you’re testing on Argie—uh, the rabbits.”

“As are you.”

Her eye twitched. “Not—Not like _that_. Christ, Moira, what if someone finds out? You’d—“

“I would what, Clover?”

The interruption caused her to pause.

Moira took the chance to interject. “Will you be running to Commander Morrison, then? Perhaps Dr. Ziegler?” Laughing dryly, she circled the desk.

Clover tensed up as Moira grabbed at her arms. Her eyes were dangerous—that same look she’d seen weeks prior, that had somewhat scared her.

“Do you think that if George Gey had asked for _permission_ that we would have HeLa cells? Penicillin? Chemotherapy?”

The hairs on the back of her neck raised once again. A warning, one that she would have been wise to ignore. Henrietta Lack's hadn't lived long enough to see respiration for her family, a 'thank you' that had never been issued. Her story had been drenched in racism and malpractice.

Moira released her, turning away. She crossed to the samples fridge and withdrew a full vial of the purple substance.

“We teeter on the verge of a _breakthrough._ Waiting for permission that may not be granted only hinders such… _remarkable_ discoveries.” She held the vial up, violet reflecting onto her irises as light shone through the glass. She seemed mesmerized by the serum.

“The possibilities are _limitless_ …”

Clover shook herself from her own stupor. “You can’t be serious. There’s regulations for a _reason._ You can’t just abandon them.”

Mismatched irises flicked back to Clover. She shrank under the scrutiny of them.

“I ask again— will you be reporting this?”

Frustrated, Clover balled her hands and relaxed them a few times. On one hand… well, Moira had an unnervingly convincing argument. How were there to be advancements without a touch of risk. Yet, a small voice at the back of her mind was voicing it’s concerns.

Clover decided to squash that voice.

“No,” she finally answered. “I only wish you would have had faith in me as your intern to have informed me of your research.” She looked down at the desk and drew her hand across the surface, needing to look anywhere other than at Moira.

“I mean… if you had, I would have had reason to tell you about Argie teleporting through her cage this morning.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

Clover explained what had happened that morning—the eerie wisps, how she managed to break through the cage. As she spoke, Moira rushed to the cage and attempted to withdraw the animal.

Just like earlier, Argie startled and ran laps around the cage. Tendrils of dark smoke began to coil from her body. She kept forward, and either of them could fully blink, reformed into the ground. 

Clover grabbed her before she could go for more cables. “... yeah, just like that.”

Moira examined the rabbit, looking over both of them while rambling about cellular degeneration and rapid reformation. Argie attempted to scratch her way out of Clover’s arms but, ultimately, was unable.

Until she discorporated again.

Clover swore, beginning to chase her around the lab. “This isn’t going to become a normal thing, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^ )))) YALL we ain’t even halfway this is just the beginning


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be July but that doesn’t stop me from having a winter setting

“So, sunflower, you comin’ to the party tonight?”

Clover looked up from where she’d been pushing her long-cold mashed potatoes around. “Party?”

It had been half a month since she’d joined Moira in her… _radical_ testing. Not much had happened regarding Argie—she was still kicking, causing issues when she decided to let herself free to wreak havoc on helpless cables. They’d already had to put in a work order for new computer cables twice in as many weeks.

One could offer her as many chew toys as there were in the world, and her favorite would still be fiber optic.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know there’s a party this evenin’,” Jesse grinned at her, waving a tater tot around. To his left, Genji rolled his eyes.

It had become tradition for the three to get lunch together— work permitting. Clover had to find a free moment from the lab, and it was dependent on if Jesse and Genji were even in the _country_. There were long stretches where they’d disappear for days on end, along with Reyes, who was absent yet again.

“She has only been here for five months, Jesse,” Genji reminded him. “It took me a _year_ to even look at you.”

“Wish that were two of us,” Clover teased, drawing a genuine laugh from the typically soft spoken man.

Jesse huffed, munching down on his tot. “Still stands. You comin’, or do you have better plans?”

Clover shrugged, the smile fading from her lips as she thought. “I’ll have to see.”

“Come on,” he pressed. “It’ll do you some good to make an appearance. It’s nothin’ super fancy— besides, Angela always makes these _divine_ lil’ cookies—“

“ _Basler Brunsli,_ ” Genji finished, noticing that McCree was starting to have a hard time with the pronunciation. “If you can’t make it, I’ll try to save you a few. They go pretty quick.”

“Mm,” Clover nodded, eyes wandering. “Sounds good.”

Her eyes flicked over to the table where the aforementioned doctor’s interns were all sitting. Jamie seemed as though he were having a blast—as he always did with the other nano interns.

She frowned and looked back down at her potatoes. _Wonder what it’s like to be perfect with a perfect little boss and a perfect little GPA and—_

“ _Aaaand_ we lost her again,” Jesse snorted, jarring her from her thoughts.

“Sorry,” she responded sheepishly. She hadn’t realized she’d demolished the potato mountain she had been working on. “I’ll… I’ll try to make an appearance, it sounds fun.” She forced a smile to soothe their worries.

“Will you be attending the Christmas party this evening?”

Before, Clover would have been startled when Moira chose to sneak up behind her. It took many, many weeks, but she’d grown accustomed to her seemingly random bouts of polite conversation.

“Mmm… I’m not sure,” Clover hummed, adjusting a knob on the microscope. She was having a hard time focusing on a cell sample from one of the rabbits. “I’m not too big on parties where I hardly know anyone.”

Leaning back, she turned towards Moira. She was closer than she’d expected her to be, and this time she did jump. 

It was always jarring when she was close enough that Clover could pick out individual freckles on her nose and cheeks.

“Will you be going?” She asked politely, readjusting on her stool.

_Please say yes._

Moira twisted the knob slightly as Clover leaned into the eyepiece, magically finding the correct alignment. “No. Usually, I would make some sort of appearance, but I have work I need to finish here.”

“Ah,” Clover nodded. She jerked back as the action caused her to knock her glasses into the eyepiece. “I probably won’t then. Too much to do, not enough hours in the day.”

“You should go.”

She side eyed her, skeptical. “Oh?”

Moira turned the microscope towards her, leaning over to examine the slide. “I fear I keep you cooped up in here far too much. What sort of mentor would I be if I did not grant you ample opportunities to meet others within the organization?”

Clover squinted at her. Moira didn’t give a damn about anyone else in Overwatch— except, perhaps, Gabriel. They bickered, but she could tell they were… _friendly,_ his intentional annoyances towards her aside.

What had changed?

Her expression evened out as Moira glanced at her. “Besides, if you don’t try _Dr. Ziegler’s_ subpar cookies, she’ll be offended and attempt to personally deliver them. I’d prefer if she _didn’t_ enter my lab.” She returned to the sample.

Whether it was true or not, Clover accepted her reasoning. “Eh… I guess I’ll go.” It wouldn’t hurt to leave early and catch the train. Go home, cuddle up with Circuit on the couch…

Call her father. Or, rather, the nurse who oversaw his care. Have a short phone conversation with him that would leave her more depressed than anything.

 _Happy holidays,_ she thought, bitterly.

Thus, she ended up awkwardly wedged between McCree and Genji for the majority of the evening.

Jesse was doing most of the talking, introducing her to people whose names went in one ear and out the other. A majority of Overwatch was there—Including Commander Morrison and Dr. Ziegler. Gabriel was lingering near them, arms folded, occasionally cracking a joke that made their small circle erupt into laughter. 

Genji was picking away at the snack table. There was more than one instance in which his sleight of hand yielded a new snack for her to try. Eventually, she had to politely decline before she made herself sick off sweets.

“There’s so many people that work here,” she commented in awe. “I know it’s a huge building, but… you don’t see most of them.”

Spirits were high—most people had a drink in their hand, occasionally a snack. They were talking and laughing and being _merry_.

Yet… Clover didn’t share their festive spirit.

Part of her felt out of place. She didn’t belong to any of the cliques she noticed— the nanotechnology division, the mechanics, the field agents, the officers and commanders…

She was the genetics intern, and the only other person in her own circle wasn’t present.

Jesse had disappeared to talk to Reyes and Angela. Commander Morrison had vanished, likely leaving to actually work. Gabriel had made an offhand comment about him being married to his work.

Genji took note of her distant expression. “It’s quite daunting,” he commented, sipping his eggnog. 

Clover tilted her eyes towards him. “It is, isn’t it?”

He made a low noise, nodding. “I know that look—it is one I used to wear myself. You feel outcast, as though you don’t belong here.”

She looked away, absently swirling her own nog around. “Yeah… Moira’s not exactly the fan favorite around here.” 

She glanced towards Angela. Jamie had arrived as well, and was currently laughing it up with his boss.

“You’re not Moira,” he responded. “You’re Clover. Who you work for ultimately does not define you.”

Clover snorted. “Doesn’t mean her influence doesn’t give me a reputation as well. I’m supposedly the only one that can tolerate her.”

He always seemed so well put together—at least, he threw up a very convincing facade. Yet, at her words, Genji seemed to falter.

“I… do not believe her to be the ‘devil’, as Jesse does. Yet, I can not ignore that there is something frightening about her.”

Clover _laughed_ . “Everyone is so scared of her, I don’t understand why. Have any of you actually _tried_ talking to her?”

“Angela did.”

Clover wrinkled her brow. “What’s the deal with those two, anyway? Moira… she can’t stand her. What happened?”

Genji crushed his cup before throwing it into a nearby trash can. “That is not my story to tell.”

He walked away, blending into the crowd and leaving Clover alone. People continued to move around her, but they didn’t _see_ her.

She felt utterly exposed, like a raw nerve, yet invisible in the same breath. 

At least in the lab… she felt _seen_. Her hard work had paid off, and she at least had a friend— well, as much of a friend as Moira could _be_ given their power dynamic. It wasn’t like she could invite her over for dinner, or out to the movies. No, that was… perhaps an unreachable daydream.

Clover felt a hand on her shoulder as she attempted to leave.

“Clover! Aren’t you going to say hi?”

She forced a smile, turning to look up at Jamie. “Oh, hey, Jamie. Yeah, I hadn’t seen you…”

_I didn’t want to talk to you._

He steered her back towards the party—straight towards where Reyes, Jesse and Angela were all conversing. The fake smile she wore wobbled at the prospect of continuing to socialize.

“Clover!” Angela beamed and took her hands. “It’s nice to see you again! Have you tried—?”

“Your cookies? Yes, they’re all I’ve heard about all day. They’re absolutely delicious, thank you,” she lied through her teeth.

Nevertheless, her answer pleased Angela. “How have you been doing? Is Dr. O’Deorain giving you a hard time?” Concern creased into her features. There were already worry lines etched into her soft features. _She’s going to work herself into her grave,_ she observed.

“Oh, no, everything is fine,” she waved the comment off. Clover withdrew her hands from Angela’s hold. “I was just about to head home. Forgot my bag in the lab, though. So forgetful!” She laughed and knocked her palm into her temple.

Jamie laughed, and the harsh sound made Clover want to deck him. “Very forgetful. Once, in college, Clovie here forgot her midterm. That was a harsh lesson to learn, right?” He knocked into her arm, attempting to be playful. He only succeeded in cracking her cheerful expression as she showed a slight grimace.

“Haha, yeah… that was a rough one.”

Gabriel seemed to notice her discomfort and poked in. “Have you mentioned to her how you managed to fry an entire case of health bots, Dr. Brackley?” His dark eyebrows raised as he took a sip of his beverage.

Jamie’s face turned scarlet. Coughing into his fist, he excused himself for another drink.

“Do you have any plans for the holidays?” Reyes asked once Jamie had disappeared. Clover shook her head, and he only nodded. He knew of the situation with her father and, thankfully, had never pressed it. “That’s too bad.”

“I’m used to it,” she assured him. It didn’t stop the ache, but… well, she had her cat and her own personal jungle to care for. Perhaps she could spend the day pruning back overgrowth.

Angela touched her shoulder gently, and Clover decided she didn’t like being touched by her. _Too friendly_. “Well, I hope you have a good holiday. It was a delight being able to talk with you again. _Schöne ferien._ ”

Politely, Clover wished her a happy holiday as well. She did the same for Reyes before finally, _finally_ working her way free from the party.

It hadn’t been a lie when she said she left her bag in the lab. She had, with the intention of being able to _hopefully_ see Moira again before she left.

Perhaps it would have been better had she not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break this one in two... get ready :—)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :—)

When she arrived at the lab, a majority of the lights were off.

Even at the door, she could hear the shrill screaming of the computers, alerting the operator that something was _wrong._ Why hadn’t Moira shut them off—?

As she stepped deeper into the lab, she was shown the answer.

Sweat was beaded across her forehead, causing ginger strands to stick to it. Her expression was contorted in agony and her teeth grit together.

An IV line of frighteningly familiar fluid was feeding straight into her arm. 

“Moira!”

Clover sprinted across the lab, dodging rearranged furniture as she dashed towards the other.

Where the needle was threaded into porcelain skin, violet webbing began, running from her fingertips up the length of the limb. Closer to her shoulder, the lavender tint began to fade back into normal flesh.

She didn’t acknowledge her, only grunted in pain as she clawed at her arm. Clover slapped her hand away in an effort to remove the needle. Before she could, manicured nails were digging into _her_ hand.

“What— _augh—_ do you think you’re _doing?_ ”

Their eyes met. Moira’s were steely despite the pain that lingered within them. Clover jerked her hand in Moira’s grasp, attempting to free it.

“You can't very well make progress if you _die,_ Moira.”

As they stared each other down, tension boiled. Neither wanted to back down.

With great surprise, Moira conceded.

Jaw tense, she shoved Clover’s hand away. She immediately went to put an end to the experiment. 

The computers ceased their shrill alarms once she shut down the pump. Moira seemed to relax somewhat, but still let out shallow, pained breaths every few moments.

Clover grabbed Moira’s discarded lab coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. Then, she wrapped her arms around her from behind in an attempt to bring her temperature back up.

“What were you thinking, _gekke vrouw?”_ She asked in utter disbelief. “You could have _killed yourself!_ ”

A quiet chuckle—a good sign, at least. “Perhaps you could scold me at a later date?” Moira tried to tilt her head back, to smile at her, but it quickly became a grimace as she grabbed at her injured arm. “ _Shite…_ ”

Clover reached up, dragging one of the screens closer. Moira’s vitals were _stable,_ even if they were less than ideal. Blood pressure was fine, temperature was coming back up, slowly but surely…

“Jesus, Moira…”

She laid her head back, eyes closing as she tried to steady her breathing. “... hoped you would have taken over my research, lest anything happened.”

Before she could stop herself, she flicked Moira in the temple.

As Moira gave a quiet exclamation of shock more than pain, Clover’s hand shot up to her mouth. “I’m sorry! It was a reflex!”

She laughed again, bringing her free hand up to rest over her eyes. Clover was half a thought away from paging someone in the psychological department. Moira rarely laughed, and there was nothing humorous about the situation.

Tentative, she flexed the fingers on her purple hand. Clover noted how stiff they seemed to be, and how she took care in extending and curling them.

“How do you feel?” She asked, rubbing her upper arms. _Temperature is still low…_

“Fine.”

Clover huffed, squeezing her arms. “How do you feel, _really?”_

The hesitation in Moira’s expression was plain to see. “... as though I’ve been hit by a truck, honestly. Will you do me a favor and take a blood sample?”

Nodding, Clover rushed off to grab the kit. She returned with the vials used for collecting the rabbits blood. A tourniquet was wrapped tightly around her upper arm. After re-pricking Moira in her left arm— the one _not_ currently light purple— she watched as blood began to flow through the tubing.

Knowing it was Moira’s blood made her stomach twist. Thankfully, she could swallow her queasiness.

After two vials she withdrew the line, her thumb holding pressure to the site.

“Now you’re going to do me a favor.”

“Oh?” Moira flexed her discolored arm, not paying her any attention. “Is that a _command_ , Dr. Haugen?”

“Yes,” Clover metaphorically put her foot down. “Unless you’d like this to be passed on to _your_ boss, you’re going to do something for me.”

Determined, she twisted her sleeve up. She swiftly wrapped a tourniquet on her own arm. Then, with a clean needle, she pricked _herself._ Her hot, crimson blood began to flow through clean tubing and into a third vial.

“What are you doing?”

Once she’d collected enough for a full sample, she withdrew the needle and pressed her thumb to the spot as she had for Moira. She bit the cap off of a pen and hastily scrawled her name and the date. She did the same for Moira’s sample.

“You’re going to check for any genetic anomalies, namely on chromosomes 1, 14, and 21.”

Moira searched her face for a long moment, thinking of the aforementioned genes.

“You want to know if you have the precursor for Alzhimer’s,” she eventually realized.

Clover broke eye contact. “I can’t bring myself to do it.”

With a short grunt, Moira brought herself to her feet. She made a motion for the vials, which Clover passed over.

Moira began to put them away, along with serum not used. Always cleaning, always moving.

“You know, had you asked nicely, I would have done it _without_ the blackmailing.”

Clover shrugged. “It’s no fun if you don’t let me shake things up.”

Moira laughed under her breath. “You do. More than you know.”

Once Moira had put everything away, Clover hovered at her side. Tenderly, she took her arm and began to look over it. She seemed to be in a great deal of pain even if she was trying to bite it down.

She slid her palm up her forearm, tracing her violet veins. The flesh reminded her of the tissue samples that had fallen into the liquid nitrogen. It was cold as well. _Did she take it cold…?_

Moira withdrew her arm, pulling Clover from her thoughts. “I— sorry. Do you need anything?”

“I’d… like to go home, get some rest.” Moira cleared her throat. She began to unroll her sleeves, and Clover looked away as she began to cover the discoloration.

“Of course. Just…”

“What?”

Her eyes flicked back to Moira. “You have my number. Please let me know if you need anything, or… if anything feels _wrong_ or if you’re _dying._ ” She shuffled her feet awkwardly.

“I just… I care, okay?”

The corners of her lips raised into a smile, albeit a tired one. “In the unlikely event I start _dying_ , I assure you, you’d be the first to know, Clover.”

Her response flustered Clover, for reasons she didn’t understand. 

“I find it endearing you care,” Moira continued. “I must admit…” She hesitated as she slipped her arms into her coat. “... I care about you, as well.”

The honesty made Clover’s heart miss a beat, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “I—yeah, well, what are coworkers for?” She laughed, frazzled.

As she collected herself, she’d failed to notice Moira gathering her belongings and heading for the door. 

“Woah!” Clover darted in front of her, throwing her arms up to block her. Moira gave her an annoyed look, eyebrow arched. “Are you okay to _drive?”_

“I’m _fine,_ I assure you. I’m not going to spontaneously fall apart, as far as I’m aware.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Now, would you like a ride to the station, or are you going to continue to worry over me?”

 _Continue to worry,_ she thought.

“... I’d appreciate a ride, thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO if it hasn’t been clarified yet, this takes place *before* Moira’s descent into blackwatch and, consequently, talon. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover!
> 
> So please, keep all hands inside the car at all time and ensure your belts are properly tightened to prevent injury!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present—ye ole filler chapter!

It had been several days since Clover had seen Moira.

Due to the holiday, the building had shut down all non-medical and emergency departments. It was a relief to have a short vacation, but Clover was still _worried_. 

She’d been given small updates, enough to know that Moira _hadn’t_ keeled over, but hadn’t heard much else.

After Christmas had passed, she was somewhat excited to return to work, even if an unforgiving anxiety was brewing. It had only been two days— yet, in those 48 hours, she’d thought about Moira nonstop.

Clover was confident Moira hadn’t given the same level of thought to her, surely she hadn’t. A pit had formed within her, one that she continued to dig at, deeper and deeper, until she wallowed in her own unprofessional thoughts day and night.

The woman was intelligent— _unbelievably_ so. Each time she opened up about her work, and spoke with such _passion_ about it, Clover found that she didn’t want her to stop. There was a fire within her. She wanted to kindle it, to stoke the coals and find out what else made her passionate, what else made her eyes bloom with unbridled excitement.

If her exemplary mind wasn’t fascinating enough, her appearance was… 

Well, Clover _had_ ogled on her first day. 

Moira had an unconventional beauty and grace about her. Not overly masculine, yet not glaringly feminine either. She wondered if the rest of her was as freckled as her face and the back of her hands—

Clover stumbled, jarred out of her thoughts as the train slowed before stopping and allowing more passengers on. Even if no one else knew what she was thinking, she felt utterly embarrassed to have been daydreaming about her _boss._

The prospect of facing Moira again made her nauseous. She’d been sitting on her emotions for _two days_ and she was already acting like a fool. A fool over something that would _never_ be reciprocated.

Frustrated, Clover lightly bashed her forehead against the train pole. A few people gave her quizzical looks before returning to their own bubbles.

For the rest of the ride, Clover tried to focus on literally _anything_ else. Eventually the train arrived at her stop, and she made the walk several blocks to the OW Swiss headquarters.

To no one’s surprise, her intrusive thought of the week was in the lab. Clover noted how she was wearing gloves as she worked at her computer.

“Good morning,” Clover casually greeted, heading over.

“Mm. Good morning.” Moira didn’t look up—her focus was fully on the screen. However, as Clover approached the desk, she slid over her already prepared coffee.

Clover ignored the drink. Instead, she intercepted Moira’s hand, starting to pull the glove away. Startled, Moira attempted to jerk her hand back with a protest, but Clover only tightened her grip.

As she expected, her hand was still purple.

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow, holding the glove in two fingers. “Did you really expect this to work?”

Moira huffed, frustrated, and tore the other off. “No. You’re far too _caring_ for it to have.” She tossed it aside and went back to the keyboard.

Clover gathered the discarded gloves and threw them in the trash. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“I suppose it would be easier,” she muttered, clicking away at the keys.

Clover noted how she paused, flexing her fingers after a bout of swift typing.

“Does it hurt?”

“Occasionally. I suspect it’s stabilized… _for now_.”

Clover leaned against the desk, finally accepting her coffee. Her eyes flicked over her hands as she returned to her work.

She had fully intended to cease her pestering. However, something caught her eye. “I’m sorry— have your nails always been that long?”

Moira stopped typing to examine her right hand. She always prided herself on having well manicured nails, Clover knew that much, but they were never more than a few centimetres long. Yet, now, the polish had grown out _considerably_ , and they were nearing an inch in length—only on the tarnished hand.

“No,” she responded, flexing her fingers once more. She keyed in another note before closing the window altogether. 

Something in her coiled and twisted at the prospect that she had upset Moira with her prying. Before, irritating her was a regular occurrence and hadn’t meant much. Yet, now… she hadn’t been this short with Clover in weeks.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” she quietly interjected. “I didn’t mean to pry in a bad way. I was being honest—I do care.”

Moira exhaled slowly through her nose. “I know, thank you.”

The two began to work, skirting around each other in the lab for several hours. Yet, as the day waned, Moira’s mood seemed to lift.

Clover grew hyper aware of the gentle touches to her shoulder as the woman would pass behind her, or how she’d linger too close while they performed the daily examinations on the rabbits. _Surely_ it was her imagination— she’d always been that way, yes? Of course she had, and she’d just never noticed.

 _Augh_ _!_ She needed to squash her feelings before they grew out of control. Drawing baseless assumptions was the one thing science was _against_. More than that, the last thing she needed was a wildfire raging in her heart. 

Which, unfortunate for her, had already sparked.


	11. Chapter 11

Given the approaching New Year, the day before the holiday was cut in half to give workers ample time to head home to be with their families. It was early in the afternoon, and Clover was packing her bag to leave when Moira stopped her.

“Do you enjoy art?”

The question caught Clover off guard. “Pardon?” She asked, turning around, eyebrows furrowed.

Moira set her tablet aside, giving Clover undivided attention. “Do you enjoy art?” she repeated. “As in galleries, shows.”

Clover pondered the question for a moment. “Yes, I suppose. I visited the Louvre a few times throughout college— not a bad day trip, after all.”

Moira nodded. “Good. As it is, I’m a patron for a museum in the city. Tonight they’re hosting a party for the New Year. Would you, perhaps… be interested in joining me?”

If it was possible Moira could be flustered, Clover believed she was at that moment. She was fiddling with a pen, leaning against her desk. Her eyes would occasionally flick away when Clover met them.

Yet, those details weren’t processed. Her brain was too enveloped in the idea that Moira had just invited her out. They hadn’t seen each other outside of work before.

“If you’re not interested, I understand. I’m sure you have more important—“

“No!” Clover interjected quickly, cutting her off. “No, I’d love to go!”

Moira blinked, seemingly surprised by her enthusiasm. “Oh—! Well, then. Excellent.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted her tie. “I’ll see you tonight, then. Your address is on file— Shall I pick you up?”

“I would appreciate it,” she responded meekly. “Time?”

“Around eight?”

“That sounds good,” Clover nodded, clutching the strap of her bag. “I’ll see you then.”

Before Moira could reply, she skittered out of the door to catch her train.

  
Thus, she ended up tearing her closet apart, searching for something _presentable._ Knowing Moira— the woman who wore a tie to work most days while she wore t-shirts and sweaters,— it was going to be a _fancier_ event.

She shouldn’t have tossed out all of her nice dresses.

Behind her, the telltale creak of her bed frame alerted her that her faithful companion had hopped up. Circuit milled around, pawing at the discarded garments.

“This is all you’ve got?”

Groaning, Clover knocked her head against the door frame. “ _Unfortunately._ I don’t know, what do you think?”

Turning, she held up two dresses for the omnic. Sitting back, their metal tail swished around as they pondered the question.

“Well,” they responded, examining a newer scrape in their metal, “what do _you_ think you should wear?”

“You’re never any help.”

“Am I supposed to be?”

Clover shot them a glare. The feline face panel always registered as smug, even if it was unmoving. “Seriously, Circuit. A little help here?”

The omnic voiced an exaggerated sigh. “Show me again.”

Clover held up the two dresses once more. They were the only two she had— a black, long sleeved cocktail dress with a low back, and a simpler a-line dress in red. It read more ‘business dinner’ than it did ‘date’.

Shit, was it a date? No— _absolutely not_. It was a polite extension, that was all. Surely Moira just didn’t want to go _alone._ After all, she could have asked _Gabriel_ , but he didn’t seem like an aesthete...

Circuit’s head tilted as they examined the two outfits. “Definitely the black one,” they decided. “Show some leg, some _risque_ thigh if you will. After all, that’s what you humans seem to go for— _ack!_ ”

The red dress was tossed on them in an attempt to silence them. “I’m not trying to _bed my boss._ ”

“Sure seems like you want to,” they chuckled, crawling from beneath the clothing.

“Don’t make me unplug your charging station.”

Displeased, their ears shifted back in defeat. “You know I don’t have opposable thumbs!”

Clover smirked, facing away as she dug around for a pair of matching shoes. “Exactly. Maybe if you powered down for the evening I’d get some peace and quiet.”

Their mock arguments were just that— jests, light jabs at each other. Clover had never thought she would have befriended an omnic _cat_ of all things, and yet they’d been friends since her sophomore year of college. 

Circuit had been built by the engineering department as a project on omnic pets, only to be abandoned after the semester had ended. Admittedly, she had no knowledge of mechanics or engineering, and was quite thankful they had been _mostly_ intact when she found them, battery low, in a scrap heap. With a bit of polishing and a couple of screws, Clover had done her best to piece then back together. 

Laying down, they offered her privacy as she began to change. “Admit it. You’ve got the hots for your boss.”

Clover stumbled, face bright red and foot halfway in the dress. “I do not!”

“Do too. After all, you’re a tomato at the mere _mention_ of her.”

Frustrated, she shimmied into the dress. “Because you’re being disgusting! You’re an omnic, why the hell do you care?”

It took them a moment to process her words. “Because you’re _lonely,_ love. You can only gather so much companionship from a conglomeration of _wires.”_

She set her shoes aside, opting to pick them up instead. They made a displeased noise, as they often did when she lifted them. “You know that’s not how I see you.”

Their green optics flared brighter for a moment. “I know,” they purred. “You’re a good human, Clover.”

“I’m painfully average, but thank you, you menace.”

They seemed as though they were readying a retort when the doorbell rang. Clover gasped and dropped them to the floor, scrambling around for her shoes. “Shit!”

“Oh, company!”

“No— _Circuit!_ ”

The cat darted down the hallway before she had time to stop them. Clover jogged after them, shoes in hand.

With more force than intended, she ripped the door open.

“Hi!” She greeted, breathless— not just from jogging down the hall.

Moira looked _good_ outside of the lab. Her usual button down and slacks were swapped for a crisp, well-tailored pantsuit. Instead of loafers with gaudy purple socks, she was—

 _Ogh,_ she was wearing kitten heels. Her height was deliciously intimidating.

“ _Meow_ ,” Circuit voiced from the back of the couch. “You must be the infamous boss.”

Bemused, Moira glanced from Clover, to Circuit, and back. “You never told me your cat could _talk_.”

Clover pressed her lips together, trying to restart her brain. “Well,” she coughed, pulling her shoes on in the doorway. “It’s getting them to _shut_ _up_ that's the trick.

Moira’s lips curled up into a smile. “Mm.”

Circuit hopped from the couch to the windowsill, strutting along it. For being made entirely of metal, they navigated between her plethora of potted plants quite nimbly. “Well. You crazy kids have a good evening. I think I’m going to go harass the pigeons.”

As they hopped out onto the fire escape, Clover withheld a relieved sigh. “Sorry about them, they’re… a lot.”

“No harm— I suppose I didn’t expect your cat to be an _omnic_ is all.”

Clover grabbed a small bag she’d prepared from the side table. Pulling the door shut behind her, she quickly locked it before turning back to Moira. “So, uh…”

Her stunned state continued to entertain Moira. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, patting the bag. “Phone, keys, money.. should be good to go.”

“Splendid.”

Heading out and down the steps, Clover was surprised to see Moira’s car idling at the curb. She had assumed she opted to drive, as she couldn’t imagine her in public transportation, but seeing her car truly put things into perspective. 

Moira had an entire life outside of the lab.

Though, it wasn’t too entirely surprising to see that she drove a nice, newer town car. _How much did Overwatch pay_?

Moira opened the door for her. She politely thanked her, tucking her feet in before the door was closed. Moments later Moira was settling back into the drivers seat.

“I pray I wasn’t too early?” Moira inquired as she pulled away from the curb.

“Not at all,” Clover assured her. “Don’t mind Circuit, they just… get on my nerves,” she laughed awkwardly. All she could think of was their comment on wanting to sleep with Moira.

_Oh, her outfit wasn’t helping._

What! No, _no_ she didn’t want to—

She hadn’t realized how far she had zoned out.

“Clover?”

“I’m sorry- what?”

“I was asking about your plants,” Moira glanced over, eyebrow raised. She shifted gears and Clover noted that she was driving a manual. Technology had long advanced past the need for it, and yet she opted for something so vintage…

Clover tore her eyes away. “Oh! Oh, yeah, a hobby of mine… do you want some clippings? I can propagate most of them, if you’re interested.”

Moira’s lips twitched into a smile again. She was smiling a lot more, Clover noticed. “I appreciate the offer— I’m afraid, though, that I don’t have much of a green thumb. I’ve managed to neglect every plant I’ve ever owned. At this point, it’s a waste to try.”

“I don’t think it’s a waste,” Clover pressed. “I’ll get one for the lab. Maybe if I’m there to watch over it with you, it won’t wither. Fair enough?”

Moira glanced over before focusing on the road once more. “Fair enough,” she hummed, content.

They sat in silence for a while, Moira focused on driving and Clover taking in the unpredictable nature of it all. She’d hardly thought she would make it _five months_ into working with Moira, let alone end up in her _car_ on their way to a _party_.

“Do you attend these events often?” Clover asked, trying to casually pry into her life.

“In college. When I was younger, and still living in Dublin, I found I was more inclined to attend what one could loosely consider parties.” Her eyes shifted to the side view mirror, and Clover noticed a faint tinge to her cheeks.

Clover shifted towards her, eyes widened with curiosity. “Are you suggesting that you went to _ragers_ , Dr. O’Deorain?”

Moira scoffed, but Clover could tell she was flustered yet again. “ _Perhaps_ , Dr. Haugen. Even I was not immune to an embarrassing night out at the pub.”

Clover laughed, settling back in her seat. “It’s just… hard to imagine, I suppose. You keep yourself very well put together.”

Moira’s fingers twitched towards her cup holder, where her cigarettes were settled. She seemed to think better of it and returned her hand to the gearshift. “Well… we all have professional appearances to keep.”

Clover’s smile softened, and for a second it was almost a frown. “You don’t have to keep that up with me. Not tonight, anyway. I’m curious as to the real you— you’re already quite different outside of work that I expected. In a good way.”

Moira smiled once more, her shoulders relaxing. “You are, as well, though just as _bubbly_ I must admit. It’s quite charming, actually.”

Now the flushed one, Clover waved her off. “Just being nice is all. You’re.. quite a lot easier to talk to that I first thought.”

Her words were honest. The rest of the ride was spent swapping stories from their college days. Both had embarrassing tales (Clover face planting in the courtyard her first week, Moira’s mix up with the wrong organic chemistry final), and it made them feel less like enigmatic coworkers who existed in small proxy, and more as real, flawed humans with complex lives.

There was a lot more to Moira than she’d first let on, and Clover didn’t want to stop learning about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this one..... we stan Circuit in this house


	12. Chapter 12

Two glasses of champagne in, Clover loathed to admit how much of a lightweight she was. Her cheeks were tinged and the exhibits all seemed increasingly humorous to her.

If she were to look over, she would have caught the enamored look Moira had been giving her.

“You know,” Clover started, grabbing a third glass from a passing tray. “I never expected you to be so…”

“So…?” Moira straightened the glass before she could tip the sweet alcohol everywhere. 

“So… _cultured._ ” Clover seemed pleased with the adjective. “You’re very fond of art, evidently. What else do you do outside of work? Besides apparently party like it’s 2015.”

Moira chuckled, taking a sip of her own drink. “I told you, that was many, _many_ years ago, now.” She swished the golden liquid around as she pondered the question.

“Well, I quite enjoy a good puzzle. I have several of those cheap brain teaser booklets just lying around my flat. At some point I’ll finish them.”

They moved into the next room as she continued. “Baking is a favored pastime. There’s a science to it, and—“ She stopped as she realized Clover was biting back a laugh. Amused herself, she looked down on her. “What are you on about?”

“Nothing,” she assured. “Just find it quite ironic that the _scientist_ enjoys _science,_ is all.”

Scoffing, Moira lightly knocked into her arm. “Of course you would.” Despite her words, a smirk lingered.

“Please, continue,” Clover waved her on. “Puzzles, baking. Travel? Pets?”

“I’m afraid I’m far too busy for travel, let alone to keep pets at the moment.” She sipped her drink slowly. “I grew up with dogs, though. Soft spot for them… rabbits, would love a pair one day. Perhaps a nice aquarium.”

Clover raised her eyebrows. “That’s quite a lot.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Try three dogs, the neighborhood tomcats, a horse, and a wild assortment of insects. I’m quite skilled when it comes to caring for multiple creatures.”

Gasping, Clover grabbed at her arm in excitement. “You kept _insects?_ What kind! Did you have mantises—?”

Moira laughed, caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “I did, yes. I would order them online. I always made a big show out of decorating their enclosures.”

“That’s so cool,” Clover breathed. “I don’t like spiders, or wasps for that matter, but I think bugs are cool. My mom hated them, and always scolded me for trying to pick them up.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory.

“Perhaps if you bring in a plant, I’ll order a mantis for the lab, ” Moira leveraged. Joy lit up across Clover’s face at the prospect.

The two made their way outside. The slow, classical music from the celebration grew muted the further they walked from the venue. The overlooked a small park. The trees were strung up with lights, and a dusting of fresh snow covered every available surface.

Clover haphazardly brushed snow off the railing before promptly leaning against it.

Amused, Moira followed her lead, taking more care to ensure she wouldn’t get her sleeves wet. “Have you enjoyed yourself?”

“I have,” Clover assured her, sidling up to her for warmth. Not seeming to mind, Moira half shrugged from her blazer in order to wrap it around both of them.

“Grand. I was… admittedly perturbed that you wouldn’t find this entertaining. Art isn’t very _exciting_ to many.”

“Mm.” Clover looked up at her, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re the entertaining part.” She’d never be so bold if she hadn’t chugged that second glass of champagne.

Her words amused Moira, who raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh?”

“Of course!” Clover gestured out at the park, at nothing in particular. Talking with her hands. “You’re quite literally the most interesting person I know. You keep all these salacious little details so _private_ , and let me tell you, it’s been a trip hearing them come out.”

“Do you honestly find me more interesting than a cowboy or a cyborg ninja?”

Clover looked back at her. She seemed serious all of a sudden, as though she didn’t believe her.

“Well, of course,” Clover promised. “You’re jarringly brilliant, ridiculously attractive,—“ she coughed as that one slipped out,— “and, uh, o-obviously passionate about your work.” Clover tilted her glass, watching the golden liquid lap at the crystal. “You don’t let others' perceptions bother you.”

She looked out across the park once more. A few people strolled about, and one couple had stopped for playful tussle in the snow.

“Even so, I don’t see you as they do. You’re not some morbid enigma, Moira. You’re not a black sheep, either. You’ve given me no reason to believe you're not a good person. Getting to know you more this evening has been quite eye opening, and… I hope you’ll be willing to share more with me in the future.”

Silence fell between them. Clover didn’t look up, instead opting to play with a loose strand of hair to keep herself occupied. Had she said the wrong thing. Moira wasn’t very _sentimental,_ not that she’d ever noticed. Perhaps she would forget about it in a few days, or blame it on Clover’s intolerance. 

People began to count down from inside. Their joyous cries could be heard through the glass doors. How had it become so late so fast?

“Well, then…” she cleared her throat and tipped her champagne flute towards Moira. “May we see a year of fruitful research.”

Moira studied her for a moment. A soft smile played on her lips. The chill of the night had reddened her nose, and Clover thought it the most adorable damn thing on the planet.

Touching their glasses together, Moira’s smile broadened, the reflection of string lights twinkling in her eyes. “To astonishing discoveries.”

Behind them, ecstatic cheers spilled from the venue as a new year was born.

After midnight had come and gone, there wasn’t much other reason for them to linger. The party would surely move on into the early morning hours, but they had both agreed that it was a touch late for them. 

Clover, embarrassingly enough, fell up asleep on the ride back to her apartment. It was a good forty-five minutes, and after the buzz she had, it was welcome. Staying up late was quite a feat after one turned thirty.

During a lull in her nap, she felt the car park and settle once the engine was cut. A door opened, and there was brief shuffling before her door opened as well.

“Clover,” Moira touched her shoulder. She stirred, stretching and looking up towards the other. “As comfortable as you seem, I’m afraid I cannot have you sleeping in my car all night.”

“My bad,” she murmured, a sheepish smile touching her lips. Accepting Moira’s hand, she stepped out of the car. Heels on fresh ice was a bit tricky, but the two managed to make it to her doorstep without incident.

“Thank you, again.” Clover dug in her clutch for her apartment keys. “It was lovely.”

Moira lingered beside her as she searched. “Of course— I had a wonderful evening, and I’m glad you did as well.”

Clover smiled up at her. “I did, very much so.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Clover realized she probably appeared a bit foolish, staring up at Moira with a dopey smile after just passing out in her car.

Clearing her throat, she nodded and opened the door. “It’s cold and late— I won’t keep you much longer. I’ll see you Saturday, then? Er… I suppose it would be tomorrow now.”

Moira nodded. Holding the door open for her as she stepped inside. “Of course. Get some rest. Goodnight, Clover.”

“Goodnight, Moira.” She offered her a small wave before closing the door with a quiet click.

Glancing between the blinds, she watched her walk back to her car, hands in pockets. She made sure she made it back alright before stepping away from the blinds.

Clover had just removed her shoes when there came a knock at the door. Confused, she glanced through the peephole.

Moira was back, shifting on the porch step.

“Did you forget something?” Clover worried as she opened the door, eyebrows knit.

Moira looked down at her, a funny expression on her face. “No. No, I just…”

She stopped abruptly, her own brow creasing together.

”...you were right. I’d like to share more with you.”

Tentative, her good hand raised, fingers knitting into Clover’s hair as her palm brushed against her cheek. Clover tilted into her palm, a weak exhale falling from her lips.

Moira leaned in, their noses brushing together as she hesitated. Clover’s lips were slightly parted, unsure, not wanting to move and break the moment. Her heart was fluttering, and she still felt _tipsy,_ but for an entirely new slew of reasons. Standing stock still, she waited to see if Moira would follow through.

And she did.

Their lips met, and Clover all but melted against her. Her arms went up around her neck, drawing her close, dragging her down to her height. She arched in as she felt a hand touch press against the small of her back.

The nip of the winter night didn’t seem to bother them as they lingered on Clover’s porch step, locked in a tender kiss. From inside the apartment, the omnic cat chuckled.

“ _Meow_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD ITS HAPPENING
> 
> Seriously tho almost 400 hits!!! Thank u all for ur continued support and I really hope you’re all enjoying this as much as I’m enjoying writing it!!


	13. Chapter 13

It was early afternoon on the 1st before Clover stirred.

The light streaking through the window caught her face, angled just right to frustrate her. She drug a pillow over her head to block out the intrusion.

She’d had more than she intended last night, for sure. Her small body could only handle so much. She knew that! But for as it happens, her nerves coaxed her into gulping down champagne like a fish.

That’s why she had been so honest when Moira said she seemed interesting. That’s why everything past that was hazy.

Well, everything except—

“Oh _god_ ,” she breathed, her stomach lurching.

“I kissed my _boss_ ,” she wailed, bashing her head into the mattress. It didn’t help her hangover.

“Last I checked, darling,” Circuit hummed, hooping onto the bed. “She kissed _you.”_

The pillow was launched towards their voice. A soft _thump_ on the floor followed by robotic chuckling implied she had missed.

“Though, by my observations, you _did_ kiss _back_.”

“I’m gonna die,” she wailed, flopping onto her back. She tugged the blankets up over her for security. Something felt off, though. Confused, she glanced down. Wait, why was she—?

“Oh, _god!_ ” She clenched the sheets tighter. “Is she _here?!_ ”

Circuit laughed harder. Had they been human, surely they would have been doubled over by that point.

“ _No_ ,” they confirmed, waltzing towards her. She frowned at them, relaxing though at the confirmation she was alone. 

“I’m afraid you stomped your way to bed, undressing as you went, bitching about _mixed signals_ and _stupid, sexy gingers._ Moira said goodnight and _actually_ left about two seconds after you two decided to swap DNA. You didn’t _sleep_ with her— at least, not yet. The day is young.”

A slew of Dutch fell from Clover’s mouth as she threw her other pillow at them. This time, the fabric collided, and they yelped as they were sent over the edge of the bed. “ _I beg your pardon!_ ”

Clover got up faster than she should have. The world tilted, and she had to catch herself on the nightstand before she toppled sideways. A displeased groan bubbled out of her. Slowly, she found displaced clothing around her room to drag on. Laundry really needed to be done.

After sourly revisiting her champagne and lying on the cool tile of the bathroom for half an hour, she managed the energy to rinse her mouth and head for the kitchen.

“So just… was it bad? Did she look disappointed after?” She looked expectantly at Circuit, worry etched into her features. “God, why couldn’t she have done that _literally_ any other time!”

Circuit laughed, settling on the small island. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” he sang, “she looked about as dazed as you did. Perhaps now work will have a little _flavor_ to it.”

Clover clutched the mug in her hands like a vice. “Oh,” she groaned, realizing his words. “Oh, oh I have to go to _work_ tomorrow, I have to _see her_ —”

Groaning, she started bashing her head into the fridge.

There was no call, no text, nothing to give indication that Moira wanted to talk about what happened.

Clover went to work like normal, but couldn’t bring herself to enter the lab. Instead, she stared at the hydraulic door, too terrified to enter and face what had happened.

She had _kissed_ her. Clover had kissed _back._ What did that mean? Surely, it meant Moira had to—

Her extremities felt cold as the glaring realization hit her, a touch too late.

For Moira to kiss her, she must _obviously_ have felt _some_ attraction.

Clover jolted as the door slid open. Much to her surprise, it was not Moira she was met face to face with, but rather _Gabriel_.

“Clover! You look like you’ve seen a ghost, are you alright?”

“Fine,” she squeaked, trying to compose herself. “Perfectly fine, why do you ask?”

Glancing over her, he raised an eyebrow. “Did you two have a fight?”

Clover’s face reddened at the prospect. “What? No! Why, did she say something to you—?”

Laughing, he clapped her on the shoulder. Again, the action almost crumpled her to the floor. “Just playing with you, Haugen. Man, you both seem out of whack today— New Year, huh?”

“Something like that,” she wheezed.

Gabriel left her to her own devices, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

Finally, Clover mustered the courage to enter the lab. Nothing appeared out of place— Moira had prepared coffee for the both of them, no shocker there. She was busy loading the centrifuge.

Just… an ordinary morning.

 _Keep it together, Haugen_.

“Morning,” she commented, attempting to keep her voice even. Moira returned the polite greeting, seemingly uninterrupted.

“So, uh…” Clover took her coffee as she passed by the desk. “Have you, uh…”

_Stayed up all night thinking about it? Did you like it? Do you regret it? Is this wrong?_

“Did you get a chance to check that blood sample I gave you?” A distraction.

Moira nodded, pulling tubes from the device once it stopped, only to rearrange them. “I did.”

“And?”

Moira looked up at her. There was a brief moment, one where her eyes shifted, but Clover couldn’t read the emotion. It was gone before she could even knit her brows, the woman instead opting to smile.

“I didn’t find anything unusual, no.”

Clover let out a slow breath. An anxiety had just been pulled off of her like a weighted blanket that she’d been hiding under for years. “Good to know,” she nodded weakly, hiding behind her mug.

She was startled as Moira fumbled a vial to the counter top. She swore, clutching at her lavender wrist as though it had cramped.

Clover caught the tube before it could roll off of the counter. “Are you alright?!”

“Yes,” she hissed, flexing her fingers. “Just… nerve damage, I suspect.”

Clover took her hand gingerly, turning it over to examine her palm. Her nails _had_ grown considerably— she’d seen her less than 72 hours prior and they’d already doubled in length. Worse, she noticed wisps beginning to coil off the tips of her fingers.

“What do you plan on doing about _that?_ ”

Moira cursed under her breath, making a fist. “A new development— I’ll take care of it. It seems our furry subject has managed to control whatever _miasma_ this is, smart girl. I, however, have not. Though, given time I’m sure—“

Clover zoned out, staring at her palm once more. She continued on about _theories_ and _enhancements,_ but the words fell on deaf ears.

She truly would go to any length for results, wouldn't she?

“—Clover?”

She was jarred out of her thoughts. “Hmm?”

Moira studied her face for a moment. “I was _saying_ I’m beginning work on a paper regarding the study. I understand that… something like this can potentially be hindering, but I want to go ahead with it. Do you wish to be included in the citations?”

Clover blinked at her before her eyes shifted away. Absently, her thumb stroked at Moira’s palm, feeling the dips and creases beneath her finger. “Oh, well, you did all of the legwork.”

“And you made the discovery.”

Clover pursed her lips. “No,” she decided. “This is risky enough— as an _intern_ I don’t believe they would be as forgiving with me. Someone as brilliant as you, though, they’d have to be. After all, this is quite the discovery.”

Moira nodded at her decision. Carefully, she pulled her hand from Clover’s, opting to return to work. “Of course.”

Clover went back to her coffee, finding safety in holding the ceramic mug. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to help.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Moira’s lips. “Of course. You are my intern, and you _are_ obligated to help me, after all.”

Clover playfully shouldered her, her own smile teased behind her drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now I’m working on some filler chapters with dabbles of plot in between, so I’m sorry if these aren’t the mushy gay chapters you’re expecting!!! They’re coming up!!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting into the chapters where I start speculating on Moira’s weaponry and technology yeee hawwww
> 
> Science is hard so let’s just assume this all magically works

They still hadn’t talked about it.

First it was days, and those days had turned into weeks. Those weeks had turned into just over a month since they had kissed on Clover’s doorstep.

Clover felt awkward following the event, but things quickly fell back into a normal routine. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary— as promised, she’d brought in a plant and now they had a lovely orchid mantis on the computer desk.

“To boost morale,” Moira had told Morrison outright when he had popped into the lab one evening for clarification on paperwork and questioned the terrarium.

Picking his battles, he (begrudgingly) accepted that Moira wasn’t budging on the matter.

Perhaps the only new occurrence she noticed was that Moira seemed more open with her. She’d ramble, about science or nothing in particular. All the while Clover would _usually_ listen with unbridled attention. There were times, however, where she’d zone out and just _stare_ at Moira, taking her in.

Ugh, her little heart was so gay for her boss that it was _unbearable_.

Since then, they’d been working together on navigating Moira’s symptoms. One evening, after pushing her newfound ability, she’d managed to diffuse completely into a vaguely Moira-shaped wraith before solidifying once more. The sight had almost done Clover in, who thought she wouldn’t be able to reform.

There were… _many_ things in Overwatch that she felt she shouldn’t be able to explain. She’d met Winston, the infamous gorilla of the organization. He worked closely with Oxton, who somehow _could travel through time._ Perhaps Moira turning into a cloud of smoke wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d see before the year ended.

That day, Moira had, uh… _borrowed_ old serum dispensers from the depths of the tiny armory within the building. It converted the usually thick healing substance into a fine mist. When in the field, conservation was important.

“Why are you poking at this again?”

Moira, equipped with a screwdriver, was digging away at the device. “Well— considering it works with the usual serum, one could assume it would work with the antithesis. Perhaps in a different way… it seems to have no effect on the surface of the skin, but—“

Moira continued on about the ins and outs of her pet project, and Clover tried to follow along as best as she could. As much as she loved listening, she also had a hard time keeping up with the inner machinations of her mind at times. They surely were an enigma.

Something switched in the device, and Moira set the screwdriver aside.

“Alright, so—“

As she switched it on (thankfully not hooked up to anything dangerous), it began to shake and dance across the counter. Moira yelped and threw her hands over it in an attempt to wrangle it back in.

Clover withheld a laugh. “Well, that’s… _something_. Not the intended use, then?”

“ _Absolutely not_.”

She went back to tinkering with it, and Clover had a feeling she wasn’t handy with electronics.

Clover spun around in her chair, idly playing with the orchid mantis as she walked across her skin. “Shouldn’t you consult someone who actually understands engineering?”

Moira shot her a glare. “ _I’ve got it_. Honestly, it can’t be that difficult.”

It was another hour of fiddling and YouTube videos before Moira seemed happy with her work.

Resting the device in her palm, she flexed her palm open to activate it. It seemed to power up, but nothing was happening yet.

“May I?” Moira asked, gesturing to Clover.

She was hesitant in her answer. Had she just asked to test what could potentially be a weapon on her? 

Yet, what harm could it do? They had to research the effects somehow…

“I suppose…”

Nodding, Moira held her hand out, extending her fingers. “Tell me how this feels.”

At first, she didn’t think anything was happening. It wasn’t until she saw a faint trail of purple, gathering volume and opacity, connecting her body and the device did she realize what was happening.

She felt weakened, as though her life was being bled from every cell in her body. After all, it was— her energy was being sapped.

It wasn’t so much _painful_ as it was incredibly numbing. Her body felt as though it were going cold— fingers and toes chilled, the iciness spreading up her extremities.

Moira was saying something, that usual spark of hunger in her eye from achieving results, but she couldn’t hear her—it felt as though her ears had been stuffed with cotton. The edges of her vision speckled, narrowing as she became more light headed.

“It doesn’t...” she mumbled, eyelashes fluttering. “I don’t feel so great…”

Not of her own volition, her body tilted forward as she blacked out.

“Clover?!”

A groan signaled she was alive. Her eyes rolled back for a brief moment before she could open her eyes. Moira had evidently rolled her onto her back.

The device had been discarded, tossed across the floor in favor of checking on her. She had cottonmouth, and felt like she’d been hit by a truck seven times, but was _awake_.

“Don’t do that again,” she groaned, closing her eyes again.

Moira pushed her hair back, sliding her glasses up into her hair. “I won’t, I promise. I… I apologize, that was reckless of me, and—“

Clover slapped at her hand to get her to shut up. “What did you find?”

The woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, surprised at how Clover waved off her apology. “That it hurt you. Here, can you stand?”

Together, they got her back onto her feet. The world titled and she caught herself on the counter, a few papers scattering in the commotion.

“I should take you home.”

“No,” Clover insisted, trying to wave her off again. “No, no, I can work, we’re learning a lot—"

She stopped as she felt Moira’s fingers at her chin. Glancing up, she met her eyes, noting the concern in them. “Must I remind you what you told me? Progress is irrelevant if you’re dead.”

Clover felt weak in the knees, but for a new reason.

“Allow me to drive you home.”

She sighed, leaning her weight against Moira. “Okay.”

  
By the time they returned to her apartment, she was feeling better. Then, she only felt as though she’d been run over _five_ times.

Moira supported her still, refusing to leave her side. She got her into the apartment and onto her couch. Circuit was nowhere to be seen. It was likely he’d run out the fire escape again to explore, as he often did.

Clover leaned over. As she laid down, Moira took the throw blanket that had been wadded up at the end of the seat to lay it across her.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she mumbled against the cushion.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me,” she closed her eyes. Laying on a still surface was already helping. “You’re… you’re my boss, Moira.”

She sat beside her, in what small space her feet weren’t occupying, and began to dab a washcloth at her forehead. “I understand I don’t _have_ to do anything. However, I feel it’s only right that I see to your care considering I did this.”

Despite feeling faint, and despite Moira’s protests, she sat back up.

“It’s… well, it’s more than just _right now._ We haven’t talked about New Years,” she said quietly.

Moira ran the cloth down the side of her face, taking care not to press too hard or to be too abrasive. “I didn't believe you wanted to; you never brought it up.”

“Neither did you,” she pointed out.

“Well,” Moira brushed her thumb across her chin, attempting to wipe away a dark spot from where she fell. Bruising, by the ache. “Does this mean you’d like to?”

Clover looked down at her hands, turning her face away. “I would.”

Moira remained quiet. Letting Clover approach it.

She took a small breath, leaning back against the cushions. “I… This is a lot to navigate— work, us.” She gestured between them without looking. Too scared to look her in the eye. “You _are_ my boss, Moira, and there’s… well, as much as I’d love to just throw caution to the wind, there needs to be a shred of professionalism. I—“

The couch creaked as Moira stood. “I understand.”

Clover’s heart fell. “Hey, let me finish.”

Moira looked down at her, and Clover swore she looked _sad_. “No, you’re right, Dr. Haugen. I apologize. I have been out of line.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, but ended up closing her mouth again.

“Take the day off tomorrow. I shall see you Thursday.”

Clover tried calling her back. She tried _begging_ her not to leave, to come and _talk it out_ , but the door closed quietly behind her, leaving Clover alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :—) sowwy


	15. Chapter 15

Wednesday night, she called out for the remainder of the week. Some merciful deity took pity on her, having to speak to Moira's supervisor rather than speak with her directly. 

The prospect of facing Moira, of having to skirt around her in the lab, was too much to handle. Clover had attempted all afternoon Tuesday to get her to talk. She tried calling and texting to no avail. If Moira didn’t want to talk, she wouldn’t.

So, for two days Clover did the bare minimum. She laid in bed, picked around the kitchen for food every few hours, and spent most of her time screaming into her pillow.

At least Circuit was giving her space instead of sass.

It was pathetic, really. She felt like a stupid teenager again. Yet, instead of the prospect of seeing her crush in school and facing social humiliation, her job that cost quite a ton of money to achieve was potentially in shambles.

She needed to talk to someone.

Scrolling through her messages in the dark. For several seconds, her finger hovered over her thread with Jamie. The last message was from New Year’s Day, one she’d read but never responded to.

In college, he would have been the first one she would have run to when in emotional distress. And yet, now… she could imagine what he’d say. He’d gloat about how _great_ it was working under Dr. Ziegler, and he’d go on and on about himself. He’d become so _selfish_ over the years…

Or, perhaps she had become bitter.

Clover’s expression scrunched up at the ugly thought. No way.

She thumbed up to the contact above Jamie’s, a more recent thread from earlier this week, sending a quick message.

_Drinks?_

  
  


Thankfully, the recipient of her invitation was still in town.

Clover hadn’t hung out with Gabriel outside of work before. There had been offers, of course, to spend time with him, Jesse and Genji. Alas, it was hard to find time when all four of them were in the same city (let alone country). Whatever Gabriel’s job entailed, it required quite a bit of travel.

They were situated at the end of the bar. Not many patrons were around, and those who were minded their own business. Perks of a weekday.

Gabe scoffed, shaking his head. “What did you two do to each other?”

Clover slouched over her drink, a fruity cocktail that Gabriel had recommended. “Nothing,” she lied while tracing the rim. She was blatantly avoiding eye contact.

“Must have been _something—_ you asked me to meet at a bar and it’s only halfway through the week. Hell, we had a meeting this morning, and I don’t think I’ve seen Moira actively pick a fight with Angela since—"

He quickly shut up, gulping down his beer rather than finishing the thought.

Clover looked up now. “Since what?”

He shook his head quickly. Genji’s words replayed in her mind; _not my story to tell_. It seemed whatever had happened between the two doctors had caused quite the ripple in their inner circle.

Shifting in her seat, Clover faced him properly. His eyes darted away. He ordered another round of drinks and continued to avoid her.

“Gabriel,” she started sternly. “You’re the second person to mention this. And you’re also the second to throw up a wall when it’s brought up. _What happened between Moira and Angela?_ ”

Sighing, he accepted his new drink from the bartender. A beer was easy, a mixed drink took longer. “You’re asking the wrong person, kid. I think that’s something you need to ask her yourself.”

She leaned over the counter again, chin going into her palms. “See, that’s the thing. We were…”

For some reason, Clover hesitated to call them friends. Is that what they had been?

“... we were getting along. Now, she’s ghosting me. I haven’t seen her since she got upset and left, and I won’t see her until Monday. All I get is radio static when I reach out.” 

_And it’s my fault._

“— besides, even if things weren’t…. _rocky,_ I doubt she’d open up about Angela. She hates her, I can tell.”

Gabriel snorted, causing Clover to give him a quizzical look.

“Alright,” he decided, tipping his beer to her as she accepted her drink. “I’ll tell you all the juicy gossip—“

“ _Thank_ you.”

“— _if_ you tell me what’s got you two all fucked up. And you can’t tell her I told you.”

Clover pursed her lips, attempting to bite back her irritable expression. “ _Fine_.”

Gabriel finished his second beer in record time. _How was he drinking so fast?_ Or, rather, what demons of his own was he trying to drown?

“They dated,” he responded simply, pulling her from her thoughts. 

Clover had been in the middle of sipping on her own drink when it went down the wrong pipe. She sputtered, coughing desperately for breath, and Gabriel smacked her on the back a few times.

“Does she make it a habit to kiss her coworkers, then?!”

Gabe’s eyes lit up at her accidental confession. “Oh, is that what’s got y’all in a bind? You just made me twenty bucks richer. Thanks, Haugen.”

While Clover stammered and attempted to back pedal, he continued with a smirk. “Seems like she only kisses the pretty ones. Other than Angela, it’s been you. I wouldn’t call that a _habit_. Moira’s very picky in many aspects.”

“When they broke up, you’d have thought Angela killed her dog or something, the way Moira treated her. Picked fights, undermined her to her face. There was a considerably long period where they worked opposite hours in separate wings of the building. Angela ended up transferring south to Gibraltar for a while.”

Clover had caught her breath, and managed to settle once again, even if she was suddenly feeling highly awkward. “Why did they break up?”

Gabriel shrugged. “The one thing neither of them will talk about.”

She rubbed at her face, groaning at the prospect that not only had she kissed her boss, but that _Angela_ tied into the whole ordeal as well.

Gabriel rubbed her back comfortingly. “So, you kissed. Big deal. Moira’s a big girl, headstrong. You’re hard headed I’m finding. So why are both of you acting so weird?”

Clover peeked at him from between her fingers, sheepishness lingering in her eyes. “We, well… we didn’t talk about it for, like, a month. It just didn’t come up. And—“

“Before or after New Years?”

She squinted at him, giving him a side eye. “It was after midnight.”

He made a face, and she had a feeling his $20 had disappeared.

She hesitated. Omitting the accident with her new abilities, she continued. “She took me home one night—“

“Did you two bone?”

“Why is everyone so invested in my sex life!”

Gabriel laughed, holding up his hands. “I was just asking. Jeez, Haugen, you could cut the tension between you two with a knife sometimes.”

“There is no tension!” She screeched. Her exasperation garnered a few looks, causing her to shrink again.

“She took me home and that was _it._ I tried to talk to her about it, and told her that… well, we had to keep some professionalism between us at work, obviously, and she got upset and left. Didn’t even let me finish what I was saying. I tried texting her that evening but she probably ignored them. God, if she would have just _let me finish…_ ”

“What would you have told her?”

Clover glanced into her drink. She returned to tracing her finger around the rim of it, gazing intently into the peachy-pink mixture. “I would have told her that anywhere else is fair— that I don’t want to lose my job, but I didn’t want to lose her, either…”

Faltering, she stopped circling the rim of the glass. The realization hit her that she had done exactly what she had been trying to avoid.

Why was it so difficult? A glorious job with a renowned organization, or throwing caution to the wind and risking it all? 

Without Moira, did she even _want_ to continue to work for Overwatch?

With a groan, she placed her head in her hands. “This sucks.”

Gabriel pat her back, rubbing it in an attempt to sooth her. “Look, kid. Things happen. Moira’s stubborn, and if she doesn’t want to do something she _won’t,_ but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try and talk to her. I think you’re the only person who _can_ get through to her about anything. At times even I get shut out, and we’re friends.”

Gabriel paused as he thought about it. “... I think.”

They fell into silence, nursing their drinks as they pondered wildly different thoughts.

Clover tilted her head, looking at him. He ordered another round of drinks despite the fact that she hadn’t finished her second. “What do you think?”

“About?” He asked, fishing out a tip.

Clover gestured vaguely, talking with her hands. “Dating among coworkers. It ended badly for Moira and Angela, sure, but… well, it’s no secret that Jesse’s smitten for Genji. They seem to navigate it just fine.”

He shrugged. “Different people handle things differently. Sure, they’re together. Kinda private about it, but if you know them you know. They don’t let it come between them and work.”

She nodded in understanding.

“Jack, on the other hand, does.”

Clover furrowed her eyebrows. She side-eyed him, noting how his jaw was set. “Ah. Different people?”

“Different people,” he agreed, taking his drink from the bartender.

Clover tapped her fingers on the counter. She kept glancing at him, shifting in her seat every few seconds. Finally, the curiosity got the better of her. She turned to him, opening her mouth—

“Me,” he answered immediately without looking.

Her mouth remained open for a moment. Once she had the mind to shut it, she turned back to her drink. “ _Ah_. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“What, being gay or dating the commander?”

“A little bit of both. Are you two alright…?”

Again, he shrugged. He attempted to appear unbothered, but Clover noted the weariness in his expression. “It’s whatever. Just going through the motions right now.”

Clover accepted her new drink, pushing the old one aside. Her buzz was coming on strong as she tried to keep up with Gabe. “I hear that. You two okay?”

He sighed and rubbed his face with one hand. “It’s this damned promotion. We were both in the running, and… well, we see who ended up the victor.”

Clover frowned. It was her turn to offer him a pat on the back.

“I don’t think he was prepared, but it’s out of my hands. Not much I can do but support him. Just wish he’d support me sometimes.”

Clover wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, her and Gabriel were friends, but Morrison was a piece in a larger, more complex puzzle. One by one, the odds and ends continued to fall into place. Yet, the picture was still hazy. Her quandary with Moira suddenly seemed minor in retrospect. 

“Well… guess we both need to work on communication, huh?”

Gabriel laughed, shouldering her hand away. “Yeah. Just bad at taking my own advice.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes?”

A thin smile formed. “Damned irony.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Anyway, whatever happens between you and O’Deorain, don’t worry too much about it. You’re not gonna get fired or anything— not now that you know how much of an earful Jack’s gonna get about being a hypocrite. Can’t have him going and firing my little drinking pal.”

Clover snorted. “Is this going to become a regular occurrence? I don’t think my liver can handle matching you; you’re double my size.”

Gabriel grinned. As if proving a point, he swallowed down his entire bottle in one go, leaving Clover shell shocked. He slammed it down and ordered another. The bartender muttered something but obliged.

“Just try and keep up, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I s2g gays school together like a bunch of queer little fish


	16. Chapter 16

Spring was beginning to stir, wild flowers to pop up in the patches of foliage around the city. Even a few of her plants had threatened to bud. Clover’s thick sweaters had turned to long sleeved shirts, soon to be thin blouses when the weather permitted.

Yet, it had been a month since Gabriel’s happy hour advice session, and communication hadn’t happened.

When Clover returned to work, Moira was giving her a colder shoulder than she had when she was a new hire. She no longer brought Clover coffee or breakfast. In fact, she no longer even sent Clover to refill her mug. They didn’t leave together anymore, either. For a while they had walked downstairs together to part ways at the entrance. It had been weeks since then.

Work became the only topic shared between them. Even then, it was the bare minimum— short answers about samples, brief updates on the rabbits.

It was absolutely _drole._

A large part of Clover missed getting to know the non-sterile side of Moira. Before, she’d seemed so lovely after she’d warmed up. Now, her icy demeanor almost scared Clover with how quickly she could flip off her emotions.

Clover didn’t think Moira even left the lab anymore. One morning, she found her passed out over her desk, her research paper hidden behind a screensaver. She’d only noticed it when she’d accidentally spooked Moira back to the world of the living and she nearly threw the mouse off the table.

She’d only been working for two months, yet Clover could tell she was close to finishing. It was lengthy— she’d managed to glance at it one afternoon while Moira was on a smoke break. She hadn’t gotten far, but it seemed lengthy, with a _lot_ of data.

Either Moira had a habit of throwing herself into her work when she was running from something, or that was how she always was. Clover couldn’t distinguish the difference anymore.

On her way to the lab, Clover passed by the break room. Inside, Angela and her gaggle of interns were celebrating something— a birthday, judging by the cake. One of the interns seemed embarrassed, a party hat situated on her head.

Despite only watching for a few seconds, her lingering had been noted. Angela’s eyes lit up as she noticed her. “Clover! Come in, don’t be a stranger.”

Their eyes all focused on her. Jamie leaned down, mumbled something to the birthday girl. She giggled before looking back to Clover.

Clover hesitated, clutching the strap of her bag. She had stopped going into the locker room a long time ago, feeling wildly ostracized from the other interns. They’d all formed their little cliques, made friends— meanwhile she was _just_ the genetics intern in their eyes. Nothing more, nothing less. Not even her boss would acknowledge her these days. Not that they’d know.

Despite their staring, and her detachment from them, the issue wasn’t how the other interns saw her. Every since Gabriel had illuminated why Moira and Angela had tension between them, she couldn’t see the woman in the same light.

She’d kissed Moira, who had kissed Angela. Who probably saw her naked, who probably ended up—

She suddenly felt grimy, and very, _very_ weird about the situation.

Her face burned. “I-I’m good. Thank you, though, Dr. Ziegler. I must be going.”

“‘Angela’ is fine, really—”

Clover was gone before she could finish the sentence.

She was halfway down the hallway when footsteps hastened behind her.

“Clover!”

As a hand grabbed her arm, she quickly tore it away, alarmed by the intrusion.

She realized it was Jamie who had followed her. She relaxed, but only slightly. “Jamie, hey—”

“Why didn’t you join us?” He frowned, confused. “You don’t ever hang out with me anymore. You don't even make an effort to get to know the other interns.”

Clover pursed her lips, eyes darting away. “Because I’m here to work, not to socialize. It’s not grade school. It’s a job.”

He scoffed, nodding. “Oh? You seem pretty _social_ with that cowboy and his robot sidekick.”

Clover’s eyes snapped up to his. “Who are you to insult Genji? He’s not a robot— he’s a _cyborg_ , and there’s nothing wrong with that. When did you become so prejudiced?”

“When did you become so _hostile?_ I was just asking a question, Clover.” He folded his arms, towering over her in the middle of the hallway. “You’ve changed— I think your weirdo boss is rubbing off on you.”

“She’s _not_ a weirdo!” Clover snapped suddenly. “You’re just a fucking tool, James.”

Enraged, he opened his mouth, about to erupt when someone cleared their throat behind him.

“Dr. Brackley, I don’t take too kindly to you harassing my intern,” Moira stated sharply. ”You’d be wise to find your way back to Dr. Ziegler before she catches wind of your xenophobic comments against her favorite patient.”

Her words held a thinly veiled threat. _Walk away, or I’ll drag the ground from beneath your feet._

Jamie looked over Moira, having to actually look _up_ to glare at her. He shared the snide look with Clover before turning and making his way back down the hall.

Clover glared daggers into the back of his head as he went. She had been gripping the strap of her bag so tight that the stitch pattern had imprinted onto her palm and fingers.

She didn’t meet Moira’s eyes as she stepped over to her. Despite being taller than Jamie, she didn’t feel cornered anymore. “Did he insult you?”

“No more than normal.”

“I can take a formal complaint to Commander Morrison—”

“ _It’s fine_ ,” Clover snapped, turning and heading into the lab. Then, quieter, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She didn’t push it, which eased some of Clover’s frustration.

They weren’t in high school, and absolutely weren’t in the midst of a drama film. Clover was already in a minefield, struggling to keep invisible bombs from detonating. She didn’t need a man child bullying her and she _didn’t_ need her _stupid crush_ to defend her.

Tossing her bag aside, she sloppily rolled up her lab sleeves. “Let’s just get to work.”

This time, Clover was the one who didn’t want to talk about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this one being short!! I felt it was a necessary bridge, and it highlights some more minor plot I wanted to work in. :’)


	17. Chapter 17

When Moira broke her ‘professional conversation only’ streak, it was with fantastic news.

“A journal is publishing my paper.”

She mentioned it casually, as though she were commenting on the weather.

Clover jerked up from the microscope she’d been busy with, having been in the middle of gathering notes on Argie’s DNA for her weekly checkup. Not much change, but she did seem lethargic at times.

“You did?! That’s great news! Do you know when it’ll go out?”

Moira, despite having an even expression, radiated a smug aura. “They’re working on it currently. It should be published in a matter of weeks, but I’ve sent the finalized copy off to Iraq for the Ministry of Genetics to review. They’ve invited me to come talk about it with their board.”

“Congratulations! I’m surprised they’re working fast. It took weeks to find someone willing to publish my dissertation on—“

“Physostigmine and its uses in gene therapy,” Moira recalled. “It took weeks for that to be picked up?”

Clover blinked, sitting back on her stool. “You read it?” She hadn’t mentioned her dissertation before. It felt silly to do so, as it had felt incomplete and rushed. She had wanted to move onto bigger and better ideas.

“Of course— I _do_ research interns before they’re thrust upon me,” Moira explained, leaning against the desk. “Admittedly, your paper stood out before I even met you.”  
  
Clover shoved her face back into the microscope to hide her flustered expression. “Good or bad?”

“Good. It was an interesting read, and I hope you pursue further data in the future.”

She shrugged. She was so easily ruffled, it was… embarrassing, frankly. “One day. Today isn’t about me- we should be celebrating _your_ accomplishment.”

Moira fiddled with her tie, drawing her fingers down the shiny material. “About that.”

Clover paused, halfway through blindly writing on a notepad. She leaned back just enough to side eye Moira. Raising an eyebrow, she waited for her to continue.

“I was hoping you’d join me in Oasis. After all, I wouldn’t be in such a position without your aid.”

The invitation stunned Clover. The most she had traveled was between the Netherland’s, England, Switzerland and one or two surrounding countries. In 2067, that wasn’t much travel experience. 

“I don’t know,” She frowned. “I can’t afford to go to Iraq.” Even if seeing Oasis, the forefront of technological and scientific advancement, was at the top of her bucket list, it wasn’t feasible. Overwatch didn’t pay interns a luxurious wage, only a mildly comfortable one.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m inviting you as a guest, I’ll take care of everything. It wouldn’t feel right going without you.” Then, after a pause, “Think of it as a business trip.”

Not a vacation, not upsetting their work balance.

Clover rubbed the back of her neck, focused on a scuff mark on the floor as she considered the ins and outs of the offer. Moira was offering, and despite not wanting to feel indebted, Clover knew that if she didn’t take the offer she would regret it.

“When do we leave?”

Clover _despised_ flying. When she’d visited Paris, she’d taken the hyper train that connected Great Britain to the mainland beneath the English Channel. The only time she had flown was when she traveled between home and school. Even when she moved to Switzerland for work, she had shipped her belongings and traveled by train through France.

She’d dressed for the flight in a t-shirt and jeans— _casual,_ something somewhat comfortable if she were to be stuck in a giant metal bird for several hours. Moira, unsurprisingly, was in slacks and a button down. _As always_. Did she even own a t-shirt?

As cute as she was in a tie, Clover had always wondered what she would look like dressed down.

The ride to the airport was unbearably awkward. They made small talk, but despite the trip, Clover could still tell Moira’s walls were up. If she even _tried_ to bring up something that wasn’t work related, she’d get me with a short reply or none at all.

It was aggravating.

“What’s the plan?” She ventured after ten minutes of silent driving. “What day are you meeting with the ministry again?”

“Tomorrow,” she responded, not taking her eyes from the road. “Unless there is an unforeseen delay, we should be arriving late this evening. The only available flight _back_ will be Friday evening, so that gives us the majority of the day to—”

Moira stalled, choosing her next words carefully. Clover could tell she was working in overtime trying to make it sound like _work_ and less like they had a vacation day.

“... to sit in on open lectures.”

Gee, fun. 

The more she thought about it, sitting in on lectures of modern research did sound quite interesting— the search for knowledge was an insatiable human instinct. Plus, science was… kind of her life.

She grew quiet, staring out the window, thoughts wandering. One day, if she found something interesting enough worth sharing, she wondered if _she’d_ be giving guest lectures at the university. She could pick up the study from her dissertation. Moira had seemed interested, but in the grand scheme of things, was it feasible?

Or did she just crave one ginger scientist’s approval?

Airplanes were the devil’s machinery, and Clover would die on that hill.

Moira politely gave her the window seat— even if she didn’t want it.

They fell into their own bubbles for the duration of the flight. Moira started off reading, but then ended up with earbuds in, watching something on her phone. Clover ended up listening to music off her own device.

When service came by, all she ordered was water. Moira, meanwhile, decided on tiny whiskeys. Interesting.

She tried to sleep through the flight to no avail. Most of her time was spent staring out the window, wishing she had taken a Dramamine, watching the afternoon fade into twilight. Vibrant orange, pink and purple hues spread across the heavens.

Clover fiddled with her virtually useless phone, attempting to find music that drowned out the drone of the plane, and would hopefully help her get a nap in. There was still over two hours of the flight left based on the time on her screen.

Once, she glanced over and caught a glimpse of whatever Moira was watching. It was animated, and she only saw the flash of a blonde kid in an orange tracksuit before she shifted, obscuring her view once more.

For a while she managed to fall asleep. When she woke again, the lights of the city were twinning below, illuminating the Oasis in the desert.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [illidan voice] you are not PREPARED

“There’s been a mistake. I intentionally booked adjoining rooms.”

The omnic receptionist paused, likely sorting through documents in his memory. “No,” he confirmed, turning back to her. “The reservation was made for one king room.”

The inner corner of Moira’s eye twitched, just barely visible. “Well, can you change it?

He gave an apologetic head tilt. “Unfortunately, Ms. O’Deorain—"

“ _Doctor_ O’Deorain.”

“Dr. O’Deorain. Due to a coveted convention in the city, our rooms are booked through. Other hotels are as well. We apologize, but we do not have the availability to move you to new rooms at this time.”

Dissatisfied, but knowing nothing could be done, Moira thanked the omnic and accepted the key cards.

Clover followed behind her to the elevators. Moira was seething, it was glaringly obvious as she stared hard at her reflection in the doors on their way up.

By the time they reached the room, Moira’s irritation had only _slightly_ ebbed. Immediately, she disappeared out onto the balcony.

The brief flash of a lighter illuminated her angled features. Then, a bright orange flare as she started in on a cigarette.

Clover didn’t even care about how she smuggled a lighter onto the plane. She was dumbstruck by how the light from the pool below highlighted her.

Moira leaned on the railing, her back to the room. Clover glanced down briefly before mentally smacking herself for staring.

With a shake of her head, she started going through her bag as a distraction. Something to focus on other than how the image of Moira smoking affected her.

_So bad, but she looks good while doing it._

Clover punched the bridge of her nose at the intrusive thought.

Unpacking, she realized very quickly that she hadn’t packed appropriately. Thinking she would be in her own room, she hadn’t packed proper night clothes.

Oh, for fucks sake, there was only one bed as well.

Clover groaned, scrubbing at her face with cold water in the bathroom. She was a mess— part of her still yearned, and the other part of her told the gay part that it was foolish and she should move on. Then, a third part of her held out hope that things would change.

Heading back into the room, she was surprised to find that Moira had come back in and changed in the time it took her to wash her face and brush her teeth. Seeing her in pajamas felt like whiplash.

 _Of course she they’re silk,_ she rolled her eyes behind her back. _Bet they’re monogrammed, too._

Moira half turned as she fiddled with loosening the bedding at the foot of the bed, and sure enough, they were.

_I hate her._

She really didn’t.

While Moira busied herself with adjusting the bed to her liking, Clover dug around in the closet. A spare blanket, albeit thin, was tucked away with an extra pillow.

She crossed the room and unceremoniously tossed them to the small couch.

“What are you doing?”

Clover looked over and found Moira mid-untucking, glancing between her and the couch.

“Getting ready for bed...?”

Moira shook her head, returning to her task. “You’re not sleeping on the couch. The bed is perfectly fine.”

Once she was finished, she pulled the covers back to slide in on the far side. She faced away from Clover, towards the wall, and pulled them back up.

“It’s not _professional_ , but I’d rather you not be uncomfortable.”

Clover stood there, glaring angrily at the back of her head. The gall—!

She knew she was irritated about the room situation, but for her to make a dig like that was uncalled for. Her wishy-washy, back and forth politeness only to turn sterile again was driving Clover up the wall.

“Can you make up your mind already?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Clover put her hands on her hips. “This whole… whatever this is! You’ve been in a sour mood for weeks! One moment, you’re inviting me here, and the next you’re pissed off again. Pick one— either hate me exclusively or… I don’t know.”

Moira jerked the blankets up closer around her shoulders, ignoring her.

She reacted before she could think about her actions. stop It came spilling over, weeks of frustrations and being snuffed finally catching up and bubbling up her throat.

“If you had _listened_ to me, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

Moira scoffed. “Hardly. You didn’t book the room—”

“I’m not talking about the stupid room _, and you know it!_ ”

If Moira had heard her (it was unlikely that she hadn’t), she didn’t budge. She kept her back to Clover.

Shaking her head, Clover mumbled under her breath. “Yeah. Fine. Go on, keep ignoring me.”

“You make it difficult to do so,” she snapped back.

Clover laughed dryly and returned to setting up her makeshift bed. “Sure didn’t seem like it back at the lab.” She snapped the blanket in an attempt to lay it out flat.

Moira rolled over now, frustration etched into her own features. “What do you want from me, then, Clover? You asked for professionalism, I gave it. You asked for space—“

“That’s the thing!” Clover interrupted. “I _never_ asked for space! I was going to ask for quite the opposite, actually, but you walled yourself off before we could talk about it!”

Shifting, Moira sat up, leaning on her arm. Her confusion was evident as she studied Clover. “I’m your boss. You made that clear. I have _tried_ to respect the boundary you’ve set.”

Clover folded her arms, plopping onto the couch. “I didn’t _want_ to set boundaries,” she muttered. Then, picking at the fabric of the blanket, “You would have known that if you hadn’t _run away from me_.”

There was an extended silence between them. Moira was absorbing this new information, and weeks of seething we’re finally working their way out of Clover. She felt tired as all of the bottled up irritations ebbed away.

“All I was trying to say was that we can’t,— I don’t know,— make out like horny teenagers in the cafeteria, or something,” she sighed, defeated. “But that’s… well, that’s not likely to happen now, is it?”

Moira frowned at her, eyebrows knit together. “Come here,” she coaxed, voice gentler now. She lifted up the other half of the sheets for her.

Clover eyed the bed warily. She decided to join her, abandoning the couch to crawl under the covers. “I didn’t want you to go. That’s the last thing I wanted.”

Moira shifted, reaching up to touch a small panel embedded into the headboard. After a moment, she found the button she was searching for, and the lights in the room clicked off.

The curtains were cracked enough that refraction from the pool danced across the walls and ceiling, rippling with cool teal light.

Gently, she brushed a strand of hair behind Clover’s ear before resting her hand between them. “I’m sorry. I thought you did, I thought… that perhaps I had overstepped _too_ far. I didn’t want to lose you _,_ and yet I pushed you away. It felt safer than the other prospective option.”

Clover shifted so that her arm was threaded under the pillow, hand sticking out so she could thread their fingers together. “The other option being…?”

“I thought you wouldn’t come back to work, with how I left. That you would be angry with me, and would not want to see me at all. The thought of not seeing you again hurt more than thinking you didn’t want me, not how I want you.”

She soothingly ran her thumb against Moira’s knuckle. She spoke in the present tense— Her heart swelled with the confirmation that other feelings were still reciprocated. “That’s not true. I… I just wanted to _talk_ about it. Because…”

Her cheeks felt hot, and she was thankful it was dark. “B-Because, yeah, I _do_ want you, Moira... I didn’t lie— I was tipsy, but not lying. I think you’re amazing.”

Slender fingers tightened around her own. “I don’t understand why you see me as such. No one else does—“

Clover leaned forward, cutting her off with a sudden kiss. It was effective in getting Moira to shut up.

The kiss was tender, the same as it had been before. Moira’s fingers threaded into Clover’s long brown hair to cradle her head. Carefully, she rolled them so she was half hovering over her.

“I’m not everyone else,” Clover assured, touching her cheek. “Screw whatever they think.”

“You’re brilliant,” she whispered against her lips, fingers moving to slide through her hair. “Stunning. Amazing. Gorgeous, divine, sarcastic, _complex, hard-headed—_ ”

“Alright, no need to recite the thesaurus at me,” Moira chuckled, her nose nuzzling into the column of her throat.

Clover relaxed under her upon hearing the sound. “Perhaps I’ll just start giving you a new adjective every day until you believe me.”

“ _Please don’t.”_

She laughed, the noise bringing a smile to Moira’s lips. They ghosted across her throat, moving to the side of her neck before she made her way up to her jaw.

The sensation caused Clover to close her eyes. Not even five minutes ago they were ready to rip each other's throats out over a misunderstanding. Now, the feeling of her teeth across her neck was _welcome._

Moira continued to leave light kisses to visible her skin as Clover let her fingers wander.

It was as if they couldn’t take their hands off of each other. It was as though if they did, the other would slip through their fingers again, lost forever.

Mutual pining was funny that way. One gives in, and things start falling into place.

Clover ran her hands down Moira’s shoulder, feeling the slick silk beneath her fingertips. Moira placed a hand to her hip before stopping quite suddenly.

“Were you _really_ planning on sleeping in these?” She asked, trying to hide her amusement as she tugged at the belt loop of Clover’s jeans.

Her face heated up again. She quickly slapped Moira’s hand away. “I didn’t—! Well, I didn’t expect to be sharing a bed! And… ah, I didn’t bring shorts…”

Something in Moira’s eyes shifted at her honesty. “What a predicament…” Her thumb rubbed across her partially exposed hip.

Clover’s voice stuck in her throat. She grew hot and flustered at the implications in her tone, and her brain ceased function. “Uh…”

She hesitated in her wandering touch when Clover didn’t give a proper response. “Is that too forward?”

“Well, uh… I mean you just asked a valid question?” Clover laughed, mortified. Oh god, was she asleep on the plane still?

Moira’s fingers traveled up, touching the exposed skin between her waist and the hem of her shirt. Clover shifted and had to bite her lip because of the ticklish sensation.

She moved slow, giving Clover ample opportunity to respond, to deny her touch if she wished. She touched across Clover’s ribs, thumb brushing against the side of her breast, feeling the supple flash there.

Clover exhaled, bringing her hand up to cup Moira’s through her top before she could continue.

“Would you like me to stop?” In the dim light, she caught the concern in Moira’s eyes.

“No,” she whispered, brushing their noses together. Clover shifted, drawing herself from under her despite her answer. “Just… _Dit is schrikken—_ I did _not_ expect tonight to go this way.”

“I’m sorry,” Moira murmured, removing her hand. “Forgive me— I’ve… well, denied how I feel for a while, and… I can’t seem to help myself around you.”

Clover shook her head, leaning forward to catch Moira’s lips again. “Don’t be sorry. Just wish I wore my nice underwear,” she joked.

Moira _laughed,_ covering her face for a moment. “My dear, it’s not going to matter.”

Her heart flipped at the endearment. “You sure?”

“I assure you, I don’t give a damn what you have on. I plan on taking it off—if you’ll let me.”

She exhaled weakly. As much as she had vehemently denied it, Gabriel had been right about the tension between them.

Clover rolled, slipping out of the bed Confused, Moira laid on her side again as she stood, watching her with keen interest. Her eyebrows raised and a smile met the corners of her lips as she realized she was removing her jeans, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Her shirt quickly followed. To Moira’s evident delight,!she had removed her bra before attempting to settle in for the night.

Once she crawled back onto the bed, she grabbed Moira’s hands to prevent her from exploring her body further. _Eager,_ Clover noted. She laid her back, playfully pinning her arms above her.

“I think your pajamas are stupid,” she announced, leaning in to kiss at her neck.

Moira laughed, throat moving with the sound. “Would you like me to get rid of them for you?”

“I think I can manage.”


	19. Chapter 19

After finally getting to sleep in the late hours of the night, Clover didn’t budge. Not even when Moira woke at first light, watched her for a few minutes, and got up herself.

The woman had asked her a question (something about a shower?), and despite answering with mumbled, broken Dutch, she hadn’t woken up.

Though, the steady thrum of the shower had drawn her out of a lighter sleep cycle for a few moments, enough to know Moira was up and about, but it was only a few seconds before she succumbed once more.

It was an hour later when she woke for good. The bed was cool, Moira’s presence long gone. _She even made the damn bed,_ Clover realized, still groggy. Then, with sleepy admiration, _What a woman._

She squinted, patting around the bedside table for her glasses. Once they were found and properly situated on her nose, she realized Moira wasn’t even in the room. The bathroom was quiet, and her clothes were folded neatly on the dresser.

The electric lock on the door jarred her fully awake. She quickly jerked the sheets up to cover herself in case it was housekeeping.

Instead of a stranger, Moira entered the room, fresh coffee in both hands.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Clover relaxed, letting the sheets sink lower. “Unfortunately… I think I could sleep for another three hours.” She glanced at the time and realized it was only eight. Moira was an early bird indeed.

She passed the coffee over, to which Clover thanked her. “I wasn’t quite sure when you’d come around, and wasn’t sure if I should bring you anything to eat. I thought we could go down and get something together once you were up and dressed.”

Clover’s eyes dipped to the side, sheepish. “If I can make it that far.”

Her thighs were cramped to high hell.

The corner of Moira’s lip twitched, threatening to form a smirk. “Mm?”

Clover chewed on the inside of her lip. “Yeah, well… I’ve had a few girlfriends over the years, but, uh… don’t think any of them have ever been _that_ eager when, uh… going down…”

She shut up, guzzling her coffee to avoid saying anything else.

The smirk did form. “Well, they should have been.” 

Moira brushed Clover’s hair back affectionately. “There’s plenty of towels and soap in the bathroom if you wish to shower. I tried asking earlier, but I’m afraid not even an invitation to join me got you up.”

Clover groaned, thinking about what she missed out on. “Damn.”

“Don’t fret, bunny, there’s always tonight.”

At the pet name, she sputtered. “ _Bunny_?” She asked, wheezing.

Now it was Moira’s turn to appear red-faced. “Ah— I just— you’re adorable, is all, and—“

Clover laughed. Reaching forward to grab Moira’s shirt to coax her closer. “It’s fine, it’s cute…” she mumbled, leading her into a sweet kiss.

Moira abandoned her drink to the side table in order to properly return the gesture without ruining the bedding. “I’m glad you think so, bunny…”

They grew distracted with each other— Clover pulling on Moira’s shirt, wrinkling it. Moira steadying herself with one hand on the bed and the other on her shoulder.

Clover accidentally tipped her cup too far in her distraction and _hissed_ as hot coffee scorched her chest. “Shit!”

Moira quickly snatched the cup with one hand, thumbing the liquid away with the other in an attempt to soothe the reddening patch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah it wasn’t too bad, just startled me… guess I just can’t pay attention around you.”

  
Eventually, once they managed to tear away from indulging in each other for ten minutes, Clover got ready for the day. Once they left the hotel room, she was pleasantly surprised as Moira offered her hand.

She took it, of course.

She had noticed, laying in bed, how well their fingers slotted together. Moira’s were long and lean, and her nails didn’t get in the way, whereas hers were much more average.

In her observations, she realized Moira only offered her left hand thus far, leaving Clover to walk on that side of her. Her right hand was tucked into the pocket of her pantsuit— the same one, she realized, she’d worn when they’d gone to the art gallery.

On her coffee run, Moira had asked the concierge for breakfast recommendations in the area. He’s informed her of a small restaurant only a few minutes walk away from the hotel.

Walking hand in hand, they navigated the streets together in search of the restaurant.

If she thought Oasis was beautiful at night, it was absolutely stunning during the day. From the intricate architecture to the golden hues, it could almost be mistaken for a dream. Moira’s touch grounded her, assuring that it wasn’t.

Once they arrived, it didn’t take long for them to be seated at a table and offered menus.

Clover crossed her ankles. “So…”

Moira turned her hand over, the tip of her nail blindly tracing Clover’s palm while she inspected the menu. “Yes?”

“So, well… does this mean we’re…”

Moira glanced up at her. “Dating?” She ventured.

Clover nodded meekly, squeezing her hand.

Moira set the menu aside, likely already knowing what she wanted. “It’s hardly a dirty word, Clover. In fact, you said worse last night.” The statement (er, _fact)_ made her feel hot all over again. Alas, it wasn’t the time for that.

“I’d be honored if you called me your girlfriend, yes, but I understand you have hesitancy regarding our professional status.”

Clover sighed, looking out onto the street, watching people and omnics alike navigate throughout their day. “I don’t want to get either of us in trouble.”

“I assure you, that won’t happen.”

She paused at that. Moira had been with Angela, she knew about that. They’d been coworkers. But it had made their relationship rocky from what she understood…

“... if I ask about something, you won’t be mad?”

“Of course not.”

She took a deep breath, pulling her hand away. Clover laid her hands out, palms up, staring into them. “Gabe told me… he told me that you and Dr. Ziegler used to be together.”

She was hesitant to glance up. When she did, Moira was gazing down the street, jaw tight.

“It wasn’t any of Gabriel’s business to tell, but you would have found out eventually. I had only hoped it would have been from me.” 

“Yes, we were. There’s no reason to be jealous of her, it was a long time ago—”

“ _Jealous?_ ” She laughed, way louder than intended. The abruptness startled Moira into looking at her quizzically, as did a few other patrons. “You think I’m _jealous_ of her?”

“Why would you bring her up if you weren’t?” She seemed genuinely perplexed by the notion.

Clover’s expression softened. She took Moira’s hand in both of hers. “Because you hate her? At least, I mean, it _seems_ like you do?”

Moira withdrew her hand. The action caused Clover to frown.

“She was a part of my life. We may not _agree_ on many things, but I do not _hate_ Angela, Clover.”

Nodding, Clover folded her hands back into her lap. “Ah. I’m sorry, then, for assuming so.”

“It’s alright,” Moira assured her. “I’m not the warmest to her, so I can see how it can be deceiving. More like a strong dislike...” 

Before she could get lost too far in the minor details, she shook her head and focused back on the conversation. “Why do you ask, then?”

“Gabriel said you two started fighting afterwards. I just… if something happens, then… What happens to us as coworkers? As friends?”

Moira reached out, gently grabbing her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “Don’t worry about that, darling. If anything were to happen,— God forbid,— I don’t expect it could ever be as bad as what happened between Angela and I.”

She brushed her thumb to the corner of her lips before letting her go. “Now— do you know what you want to eat?” She changed the subject before Clover could pry any further.


	20. Chapter 20

After breakfast, Moira got them a taxi to the university. As soon as they arrived she was whisked away, leaving Clover to her own devices until she returned. 

The campus was just as beautiful as the rest of the city, if not more.

She bounced around through a few open lectures, looking for something that held her interest. Each time, she’d slip in quietly and find a seat in the back row, not wanting to bother anyone.

There were brief biographies on the lecturers posted outside the doors. One drew her eye in particular— a Dutch astrophysicist giving a lecture on gravity manipulation.

Hm.

She humored herself, sitting in on the discussion to kill time. The man was older, but still spry. He would occasionally say something in Dutch that would garner a chuckle from her. Students and visitors were able to ask questions. He would respond to each of them eagerly, often going off on tangents about his research and past findings.

Admittedly, Clover had little interest in astrophysics, or physics at all, but he kept it interesting enough to hold her attention.

Her mind wandered, and she ended up daydreaming while staring into space. She imagined one day, likely years in the future, hosting her _own_ lecture series. Perhaps on gene therapy, or finding a treatment or even cure for Alzheimer’s—

The thought quickly soured her mood, thoughts turning to her father. She should really call, or visit seeing as she was overdue for one, but it was often too much to handle emotionally.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lost in her thoughts. As a hand touched her shoulder, she was startled out of her thoughts.

Moira settled into the chair beside her, neatly crossing one leg over the other. She didn’t speak, likely out of respect for the lecturer, Dr. de Kuiper.

He said something in Dutch once more, and Clover’s lips twisted into a smile. Moira raised an eyebrow, but she waved her off. Space joke, she’d tell her later.

After the lecture was over, the two lingered in the courtyard. 

“Well, how did it go?”

Moira lit a cigarette and Clover made a face at the smoke. Mindfully, she moved so Clover was upwind and the smoke wouldn’t billow back in her face.

“Fine,” she assured.

“Just fine?” Clover prodded.

Moira exhaled through her nose. “They praised my work, though chided me on my small sample size. Not entirely unexpected, unfortunately. There’s only so much I could have done given my _restraints_.”

She nodded. Moira had expressed complaints with Overwatch before, and how she felt boxed in. “Well, I’m glad it all went well.”

Looking over, she noted Dr. de Kuiper venturing out into the courtyard. He was fiddling with his bag while a familiar pastry was between his teeth.

Gasping, she slapped Moira's arm a few times in excitement. “Stay here, I’ve got to ask him something—“

She dashed off, approaching the man.

She greeted him with a handshake. Clover thought Gabe had huge hands, and she was quickly mistaken. They had a quick conversation in Dutch before it ended in laughter. Clover thanked him before heading back to Moira.

She snubbed out her cigarette before disposing of it. “I didn’t know you liked astrophysics.”

“I don’t,” she answered honestly. “I was asking him where he got the _stroopwafel_.” Her accent picked up on the word. “Lucky for us, there’s a shop nearby that sells them!

And thus, she conned Moira into buying her a stroopwafel. 

They were sizable, and rich enough that they decided to split one. Clover ended up with most of it, however. It was a little piece of home she’d been missing.

“I missed these,” she groaned, enjoying the sweetness of the pastry. “It’s good, but not the same as homemade.”

Moira nodded along. She idly picked at the desert. “You said you hadn’t been home in a few years.” Clover was only mildly surprised she remembered the conversation, it had been several months. “Why don’t you return? Is it because of your father?”

Clover looked out the window, frowning as she caught her reflection. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s just… so hard to see him like that. Couldn’t do anything on his own the last I heard. I don’t… that’s not the man who raised me.”

“He is,” Moira pushed gently. “He can’t help what’s happened to him.

“You don’t think I know that?” She snapped. She frowned and looked back to Moira. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright— Excuse me for overstepping, but I think it’s worth calling and checking on him.”

Clover eyed her, weary. Did she get some weird telekinesis abilities too, or was she just easy to read?

“Perhaps… you’re right. I’ll get around to it.” She broke off a chunk of the pastry. 

_… one of these days,_ she tacked on mentally.

“What do we do now?” She inquired, changing the subject. The rest of their day was available, as was much of the next. “Continue sitting in on lectures?”

That had been the original plan. Yet, surely neither of them had foreseen sex the night before— and that had been quite the game changer.

Moira’s eyes shifted, likely thinking the same thing. “Only if you’d like to. If not, I was thinking we could return to the hotel before a nice dinner this evening.”

Glancing over her, a small smile formed on Clover’s lips. “Nothing in between?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty we can fit in between now and then,” she replied, a devilish smile forming.


	21. Chapter 21

“Hey! What are you doing?! You can’t mess with that!”

Entering the lab, Clover was met with a mess. Two men were packing things into boxes, carting them away. 

It was their first day back since Oasis. They’d almost missed their flight back (whoops), and parted ways once more on Clover’s doorstep. Had she invited Moira inside, it would have been likely that neither of them would have made it to work on Monday.

One man shrugged, shifting a box of lab equipment in his arms. “Look, lady, I’m just following orders. Take it up with my boss.”

“ _Who is?_ ”

“Commander Morrison.”

Clover’s blood ran cold. Why was he having the lab cleared out?

“Augh! What the hell?!”

Wheeling around to the commotion, Clover was horrified to find the rabbits were being moved as well. Argie shifted, melting from the arms of a man trying to move her to a portable cage. She scrambled off beneath a table to the man’s dismay. She caught something about ‘stupid animal’ under his breath.

Her blood was _boiling_.

Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the lab. She slammed the door to the break room open with more force than she meant, even startling herself as it banged into the wall.

“Haugen, what the hell?” Gabriel uncharacteristically snapped. Moira was standing over his chair, and she realized she’d interrupted something. It didn’t matter— Whatever they were discussing could wait.

“They’re packing up the lab!”

Moira sighed, folding her arms. “I know.”

“You— Maybe a little warning next time would be great?! Aren’t you going to do something?”

Moira and Gabriel looked at each other. They shared an unspoken thought. What was happening?

“Give us a minute?”

Gabriel nodded, pushing away from the table. He looked over Clover for a moment before pushing past her. She frowned as she watched him go.

Regardless of how off his mood was, she shut the door, leaving the two of them alone. “What’s going on?”

“I was called in to speak with Morrison and several of my supervisors this morning. They have come to a decision to ‘let me go’.”

Clover blinked a few times. She tried putting the words together in a few different combinations in her mind, thinking she heard her wrong. “Let you go?” She repeated slowly.

“It seems I’ve been fired.”

Clover’s heart dropped into her stomach.

How did they know so fast? She hadn’t told anyone— not even Gabe, or Jesse or Genji—

“Oh my god,” she breathed, collapsing onto the couch. She placed her head in her hands. She’d ruined Moira’s life, she’s _destroyed_ her career, she’d—

The couch dipped and creaked as Moira settled beside her. A hand came to touch at her back comfortingly. “Why are you crying?” Moira frowned at the realization seeming confused. Concerned.

Clover waved her hands around, _laughing_ out a sob. “I— god, Moira, I got you fired!”

Realization dawned on Moira’s face. With a chuckle, she reached over and gently began wiping tears away with her thumb. “Darling, it’s because of my paper.”

“Your—? Your paper?!”

Moira nodded, her thumb tracing under Clover’s eye. “Despite what the ministry had to say, they weren’t too fond of my ‘misuse’ of Overwatch funding and technology.”

Eyebrows knit together, Clover looked over Moira. “You’re not upset?”

“Miffed, yes, but not upset. I just didn’t expect they’d realize quite so soon.” She brushed a lock of hair behind Clover’s ear. “Gabriel has offered me a job under Blackwatch.”

 _Blackwatch?_ she thought. Moira must have noted the confusion on her face. Before she could even ask, she clarified.

“The special ops section of the organization.”

Clover took her hands. This was a lot. “Uh… okay, didn’t know we had one of those.”

“That’s the point— it’s not public knowledge. I’m afraid I’ll be spending more time in the _field_ again rather than in _research_ , but it’s still a job. He’s been hounding me to join for quite some time now.”

Nodding, she absently explored Moira’s fingers. “Okay… so new job, that’s… unexpected, but good,right?” She frowned and looked up at her. “Will you still be _here?_ ”

Moira hesitated. She curled her fingers, squeezing Clover’s hand. “The facility is in Rome.”

“ _Rome_ ?” She wheezed. “No. _No_ , we just got together, you can’t move halfway across the continent from me!” Then, it dawned on her that _her_ position was going to be affected. “What am I supposed to do? Where are they going to put me?!”

“It’s alright, darling—calm down. I’ve asked Gabriel to consider transferring you.”

Clover faltered. “That’s another thing that would have been great to know.” Was that why he seemed irritated at her?

“He owes me a favor.”

“That sounds a pretty big favor, Moira. I’m not ‘special ops’ material, I think that’s pretty obvious. You’d waste that on _me?_ ”

“I don’t see it as a waste.”

Clover was going to challenge her, to inquire more on what exactly the job may entail for she had a million questions brewing. However, they were interrupted when the break room door slammed open again. Someone was really going to put a doorknob-shaped hole in the wall one of those days.

This time, Angela was in the doorway, and Clover had never seen the woman in a state less than cheerful. There was a first time for everything, though, because she radiated _fury._

Thankfully, Clover had dropped Moira’s hands when the door opened. Angela hadn’t seemed to notice their PDA.

“Dr. Haugen, can you please give Dr. O’Deorain and I a moment?”

Clover looked at Moira. Her expression had gone from being lax to being guarded in an instant. Her jaw was tight, eyes narrowed. She glanced down to Clover and nodded.

Even as the door closed behind her and she made her way down the hall, she could still hear the slew of angry German that erupted from the normally friendly doctor.

She made her way back into the lab, watching as employees packed things away. For a moment she thought she’d have to fight one of the personnel for the mantis and plant. He relented, not wanting to face the wrath of an already angry intern.

Clover wanted to cry as she watched the rabbits get carted off. She’d taken care of them for months. They weren’t happy in the small cages they’d been forced into, they didn’t understand what was happening. She wanted to go over, to take them back and let them free, but she knew… technically they _were_ Overwatch property.

She looked away as the men removed them from the room. Her eyes landed on the desk, and she realized Moira’s computer was still plugged in.

What would happen to her research?

Clover poked her head out the door, making sure the men were gone. She was about to do something that was _probably_ illegal.

Rummaging in her bag, she found an old storage device from college. Jamming it into the computer, she quickly began pulling files and transferring them over. 

One of the files stalled, being too large to transfer in a timely manner. Clover could hear footsteps coming up the hall again. She shook the mouse in frustration, willing it to download faster.

It completed, and she ripped the USB out just in time. The next thing they packed away was the computer.

Clover shoved the flash drive into her pocket, fiddling with it. Like hell she was going to let them destroy valuable data.

She was headed back to the break room to see if Angela had finished her verbal lashing when she was stopped by a familiar face, one that she desperately wanted to punch.

Jamie was heading towards her. Her eyes narrowed. What did he want?

“Hey,” he said, plainly.

“ _Hoi,_ ” she responded, voice flat.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling. “So, erm… look. I’m sorry about what I said— I was out of line.”

Clover looked over him suspiciously. He rarely apologized. “Alright”

“Forgive me?” He tried, looking at her with pleading eyes.

Clover faltered under the gaze. “... alright. I forgive you, Jamie.”

He grinned. “Great! Because it’s band night at this local bar, and guess who’s going to be there? Riot of Twilight! I know you love them, so—“

Clover zoned out, looking behind him. She could vaguely hear the last heated snippets of Moira and Angela’s conversation as the break room door opened, the blonde half in the doorway. Jamie was continuing to talk her ear off about the band, but she was distracted.

“—see you Friday?”

She blinked, dropping back into reality. She didn’t even know where she’d be Friday, and the prospect of seeing one of her favorite bands with him didn’t feel right. “Uh… I’ll have to let you know. Sorry, I’ve got to go.” 

He frowned, turning around as she slid past him. “Uh… okay? See you later, then?”

Clover threw a wave over her shoulder, heading back into the break room. Angela had disappeared, and Moira was brewing a cup of coffee with shaking hands.

“Are you alright?”

“Just _grand_.”

She obviously wasn’t.

Clover walked over, taking the mug from her. She set it down, starting to put the drink together the way she liked it. Whatever Angela had dug into her about had upset her greatly, Clover could tell. She didn’t push her on it.

“You’re technically not my boss now.”

Moira considered it. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

Clover grinned, realizing what that meant. “What are you doing Friday?”

“Not working,” she snorted. “Why?”

Clover took a drink of the coffee before passing it over. “Guess it’s not unprofessional for me to ask you on a date, now, is it?”

Moira glanced down, eyebrows raised, but a smirk on her lips.


	22. Chapter 22

“Are you _sure_ you understand what you’re getting into?”

Clover sighed, signing off on yet another page in a long list of documents. “Yes, Gabriel,” she assured him. “Training, training and _more_ training. I’d be lucky if I ever saw the inside of a drop ship.”

He still didn’t seem satisfied. “Clover, this isn’t a job to be taken lightly. There’s real danger—“

“And there’s not _here?”_

It was, after all, a question that had been burning in her mind. She’d read the news, had heard the hushed gossip around the office. The omnic crisis was still ongoing in areas, and rumors of a new threat were brewing.

He rubbed his jaw, and for a moment he appeared aged. “All I’m saying is that it’s not what you’re used to."

She scribbled off another signature. “And all _I’m_ saying is that I’m adaptable.”

With the transfer going through, Clover had plenty of downtime to pack her apartment. It felt odd sorting her belongings back into boxes after only living there for… wow, it’d been eight months. Time had gotten away from her.

Circuit had voiced their complaints. “I have to get used to _another_ country? I just mapped the streets here!”

Clover pat their head. It was warm to the touch from their wiring— at least they were _somewhat_ like a real cat. “I know, buddy. But, hey, you can say you’ve traveled. Maybe you’ll find a nice omnic dog and hit it off.”

“I am a being incapable of love.”

“Liar,” she stuck her tongue out.

They spread out on the rug, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, to be a human. To not worry about getting wet, or being turned into scrap.”

Clover rolled her eyes. “Yeah, just gotta worry about getting _murdered_ at _work_. At least when _you_ ‘die’ your sentience will be uploaded to the Cloud.”

They made a grinding noise. It happened occasionally with their voice box— she had no idea how to fix it, unfortunately, but it didn’t appear to be a hindrance. “Garnering I don’t contract a virus.”

They circled her, dragging against her calf. “At least _you_ get something good from this; you get to snog your boss in _two_ positions. Well, actually, I’m sure you’ve found _many_ more than two by now—“

Clover shut them up by smothering them with a towel. 

“You know, for an omnic you’re quite vulgar!”

“I was made by a gaggle of college bastards, can you blame me?”

Ignoring them, she glanced up to the clock. “Ah, _shit—_ ”

Moira would arrive within the hour.

Clover had been surprised when she agreed to go to the show with her. It wasn’t an art showing, or a fancy dinner at one of the finest restaurants in Oasis, but it was something more on par with what she was financially comfortable with. The thought of Moira continuing to spend ludicrous amounts of money on her made her nauseous. So, she’d put her foot down that _she_ would pay both their way in the door and anything they may get that evening.

She kicked Circuit out of the room to change, not in the mood for more of their sleazy jabs at her relationship. God, her _relationship_. It still felt disorienting to think of Moira, finally, as her girlfriend.

And every time she did, she felt the warm and fuzzies.

Her hair was thrown up into a sloppy ponytail. It didn’t really matter how it looked, because she fully intended on having a good time and moving around. And no, that wasn’t a euphemism, she just _really_ loved one of the guest bands.

She pieced together an outfit she hadn’t worn since… well, since she’d gone and seen them the last time. That evening she had, unfortunately, gone with Jamie. He spent the entire first half ripping into the opening set instead of actually enjoying the music.

Two hours of her life she’d never get back.

She was almost through squinting on her eye makeup when a knock at the door caused her to draw a vertical wing.

Curse eyeliner.

After quickly smudging it into something that could be considered ‘intentional,’ she darted down the hall to get the door.

Moira was… well, she _had_ told her to dress casual. She just hadn’t expected her to look so good in it. She really should have, that woman could pull off anything, it appeared.

She was in a faded band t-shirt, well worn to the point that there were a few holes and tears around the collar paired with black jeans. Glancing down, Clover noted how the ankles were rolled up.

_Splendid, everyone will know we’re raging lesbians._

Moira _laughed_ as the door opened, holding a hand out towards Clover. “You tell _me_ to dress casual, and here you are!”

She tugged at the hem of her skirt, flustered. “This is casual! It’s a _jean skirt_ , and a halfway decent t-shirt! That’s casual, right?”

Moira laughed again, kissing her instead of answering. “You look beautiful, Clover.” 

The compliment embarrassed her. She brushed it off, instead opting to let her into the apartment. At least this time she could put her shoes on _before_ exiting.

Circuit waltzed along the back of the couch. “ _Ah,_ the graceful heron is back.”

“ _Circuit!_ Be nice!”

“What? The heron is a magnificent creature. For example; in Egyptian mythology they are symbols of the sun, and they quite liked the sun. Lessons taught regarding the heron include those of grace.”

Moira brushed a thumb across their forehead before toying with one of their ears. “Your cat is quite charming.”

Clover narrowed his eyes. “Don’t listen to them, they get all of their information from Google.”

“Guilty,” they purred.

As they were shooed away by Clover, they hopped out onto the ledge of the fire escape once again. Admittedly, she had no idea where they got off to all hours of the night. She suspected they simply enjoyed time alone outside of pestering her.

Once her boots were tugged on, they headed out the door.

  
  


True to her word, Clover paid for them. It was only a small entrance fee to get into the space— typically it was free, but since they expected to be busy they wanted to limit the number of people in the building.

It was packed, that was for sure. They had to stick close together to avoid getting separated. However, Clover could tell that even if they _did_ end up apart, she’d be able to pick her girlfriend out from across the room. She was taller than most of the men there.

At one point, Moira attempted to buy her a drink behind her back, only to get her hand slapped back down. 

“My treat,” she told her firmly, giving her the whiskey she’d ordered. Her drink of choice, it seemed.

Moira raised it to her lips. It was likely the only one she’d have— she was, after all, in charge of driving them home. Clover, meanwhile, wasn’t— as evident by the mixed drink she got for herself. Whatever grapefruit and orange juice concoction Gabriel had funneled into her at their little get together had been pretty tasty.

Yet, despite not having to drive, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake she had on New Years. It had been _dreadfully embarrassing_ getting nearly smashed around Moira. Sure, it had been her nerves driving her to drink, but she wanted to keep in mind her limit.

One was enough. Water was the true adult beverage.

Looking up, she noted how Moira was staring out across the small sea of both omnic and human dancers.

“Do you dance?” Clover asked her, curious.

She looked down to her. “No, I can’t say I do.” She finished the drink quickly and set it behind them on the bar top. “I’m a dreadful partner.”

Clover touched her arm. “Come on, you can’t be _that_ bad. It’s hard to imagine you being bad at anything.”

Moira chuckled, looping their fingers together. “You’d be surprised. I’m a piss poor artist, and I can neither sing nor act. The arts elude me— I was destined for science.”

Clover rolled her eyes. “You’re lying. I’m sure you’re _fine_ at those.” She thought for a moment, squinting. “Except maybe the art.”

She’d seen her sticky notes.

The set that had been occupying the stage received a round of uproarious applause, drowning out whatever retort she had readied. The owner came out, announcing the next set— Riot of Twilight, the band she’d been so excited to see.

The band was composed of both humans and omnics, much like the crowd. The lead singer, interestingly enough, was an omnic herself. They started into a familiar bass rift. Gasping, Clover abandoned her drink to the bar and clutched Moira’s hand in a vice.

“I love this song! Come on!”

Whatever protest Moira tried to give was covered by the music. 

In order to be heard over the music, she had to lean in close. “You have a very modern view on omnics,” she observed. Clover gave her a questioning look to which she continued. “In England— they hold more conservative ideologies towards them, as I’m sure you noticed. Yet, you embrace them openly.”

Clover shrugged, taking her hands while swaying to the music. “I don’t have an issue with them, no. They’re sentient— they don’t deserve to be ostracized. I didn’t ask to be here and neither did they, yeah?” She pulled Moira in closer to dance with her. “Besides— I’m _not_ English.”

“As I’m well aware,” she chuckled in her ear. “Neither am I.”

The song picked up into the main chorus. Moira adjusted the hold on her hands, placing the other on her lower back.

The shorter tilted her head back and laughed in delight as they danced together, keeping up with the tempo. “And you said you can’t dance!”

“Not informally, no,” she tittered.

“Oh, so just ballroom dancing, then?” She teased. The look on Moira’s face told her she was probably right. “You’re doing _just_ fine.”

Clover teasingly pushed her away before drawing her back in. 

Moira’s lips came to her ear, having trouble talking over the music. “I didn’t garner you for someone who would listen to music like this.” It was obviously very alternative, rough around the edges and far from mainstream.

“What did you think I’d listen to?”

“To be honest, I expected bubblegum pop. When you mentioned a _bar,_ however, I knew I had been mistaken.”

Clover giggled, the sound whisked away. Then, drawing her down to hear, she responded. “I listen to a little bit of everything. This is honestly one of my favorite bands— saw them a few years ago in England. They tour, but they’re not _too_ well known, mostly small venues.”

Moira nodded. “Interesting, indeed.”

“What do you listen to?”

She must have missed the question, as she didn’t answer. 

Instead, she had her eyes closed, enjoying the atmosphere. The low lights, blue and pink, were casting contrasting glows across her face. She looked more youthful— typically she looked mature, very studious and put together. Yet now, enjoying herself, she looked like she didn’t have a single worry. Overwatch was miles away, as was their future within Blackwatch.

She wasn’t aware, but Moira felt the same. It was evident by the fondness in her eyes as she watched Clover move along to the music, knowing and singing each lyric on cue.

Clover looped her arms around Moira’s neck, dragging her down for a deep, amorous kiss in the middle of the crowd. No one else existed— it was only them, and nothing could shatter their moment.

Not even an apoplectic old friend with a phone camera, toeing the shadows of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t want to swap this from m to e, so uh. Keep ur eyes peeled because I’m probably gonna start a series grouping for explicit side fics 👀


	23. Chapter 23

Much to her surprise, Clover woke first. There was an indefinite amount of time she laid still, basking in the satisfaction from the previous night. Eventually she braved the morning light and allowed her eyes to crack open.

She found herself in Moira’s embrace. The ginger woman had a lanky arm draped over her waist, the other crooked up under her pillow. Clover found it endearing once the realization dawned on her that she was being spooned. The fact made her ears warm and her butterflies flutter.

Upon shifting, Clover found Moira’s hold tightening. She could feel as the geneticist pressed her nose into her hair.

“Are you awake?” Clover tried, voice soft.

After a long moment, “Would you like me to be?” was the muffled reply she received. Clover’s lips twitched in amusement. Minding the other occupant of the space, she made her way to turning over. Once she’d settled, she was met with those mismatched eyes once again, this time soft with sleep rather than blown with desire.

“ _Goedemorgen_.”

The hand laid across her waist wandered, slipping down to her thigh. Goosebumps followed the path Moira’s fingers took. Gently, she hooked her hand around the back of Clover’s thigh and pulled her leg over her own.

“ _Maidin mhaith_ ,” Moira purred into her ear. Her lips traced a path from the spot behind her earlobe, nipping at the joint of her mandible before continuing down under her jaw.

Clover bit down on her lip. “Did you not get enough of me last night?” She asked with a breathy laugh.

“Truth be told,” Moira murmured between nibbling and teasing, “no. I did not.”

At that, she pushed the two of them over. Based on the smug look Moira was giving her, Clover was positive her face was absolutely red.

Carefully, Moira shifted them and began to push Clover’s leg up. She assisted with the movement, feeling embarrassed as the blanket fell away and exposed them to the brisk morning air. If Moira minded, she didn’t show it. The woman was preoccupied as she began to kiss her way up her partner’s thigh. Her lips ever so slowly migrated towards her hip before trailing back.

“Beautiful,” She breathed, her cheek brushing against her skin. Moira opened her eyes and fixed Clover with an uncharacteristically lazy stare. “You look exquisite in the golden hour, _mo choinín_.”

Perhaps she should have bed her long before if she had known Moira could be so gentle.

Clover had gradually clipped away at Moira’s thorny exterior, that much was evident. She had a feeling that the doctor would do anything she asked, and in turn Clover would come at her every beck and call.

As Moira continued to kiss across her legs and thighs, gradually moving up to her abdomen, Clover let herself relax into the sheets. “Mm… you do, as well.”

It wasn’t an empty compliment by any means. Only, it didn’t capture how she truly felt.

The halogen of the lab typically cast Moira in an unforgiving white light, causing her features to appear cold, clinical. There, though, the sun added a new layer of depth to her appearance. In the sun, seemed alive, three dimensional, full of emotion.

Clover decided there, in that still room in Zurich, during the early golden hour, that copper hair and rosy skin would be the end of her. She wasn’t sure when, but if she were to crash and burn, she’d prefer it at the will of one brilliant geneticist.

Moira, after moving fully over her, let her head dip so she was kissing across Clover’s throat. The two were comfortable in their silence, the only noise the occasional hitched breath from the brunette as Moira’s lips continued to wander.

The stillness of the moment was broken, just as Moira was about to place her lips to Clover’s, by an insistent knock at the front door.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, their breaths ghosting the others lips. As she attempted to kiss her once more and ignore the intrusion, the knock was repeated. Louder this time, longer.

“ _Reyes, Gabriel is at the front door,_ ” came a monotone, automated voice from Moira’s tablet on the nightstand. She hadn’t realized she had a door camera. Admittedly, she did know _much_ about her living space… it was the first time she’d been in Moira’s home.

She bowed her head, cursing in Gaelic. “Gabriel is persistent, and no doubt will not leave until seen to. I’ll deal with him.”

The bed dipped briefly as Moira rolled off of her with agile dexterity. At the loss of her warmth, Clover found herself chilly and groping for the blanket to cover herself. “Hurry back.”

Moira was dressing hastily, anything within reach, her back to Clover. “With him? I doubt it.”

Clover tried to hide her disappointment at this. She sank back against the headboard, watching as Moira disappeared, shutting the door with a soft ‘click’.

The walls were thin—something she only noticed as she heard soft conversation coming from the living room. Part of her hoped Moira hadn’t received a noise complaint last night, and the other half…

... _well_. There _was_ pride to be taken in one's work, after all.

The hushed voices didn’t let up, and Clover decided that was her queue to get dressed. She left the comfort of the sheets to tiptoe her way out of bed. She righted her glasses before taking in the room.

It seems that, in their haste, her clothes had been strewn around. She had a hazy memory of her shirt being cast off, but couldn’t remember where.

Shifting her weight a few times, she managed to hop back into her skirt. Then, after a moment of searching, she found Moira’s discarded t-shirt from the night before. 

Clover had seen the inside of her wardrobe, and she had a collection of plain button downs in a variety of colors. She could have had her pick at any of them, but something about her pre-worn t-shirt made her feel better.

She realized she _still_ couldn’t find her underwear. They’d been missing in the car…

With a silent groan at the memory, she dragged her hands down her face. _Dammit, O’Deorain._

She started searching for the jeans Moira wore the previous night. If she had held onto them, they’d be in the pockets, more than likely.

After two seconds, she gave up. Fuck it.

Once she was somewhat presentable, Clover cracked the door open and peered into the living room. She couldn’t see Reyes, as she assumed he was around the corner in the living room, but could see Moira fixing coffee in the kitchen. Of course, she’d pulled her jeans back on.

The familiar voice of her _new_ boss and friend caught her attention. “Did you have company?”

“That’s none of your business,” Moira snapped. Even from where she lurked in the door frame, she could see the mauve lipstick smeared across her pale neck.

 _Oops_.

To be fair, they hadn’t been expecting to be interrupted. It would have been washed away at some point.

Moira turned, mugs in hand, ready to return to the living room. Upon seeing a Clover she immediately turned back around and started to fix a third.

Clover was engrossed in the photos on her wall. In their rush to get to Moira’s room the night prior, she hadn’t been able to get a good look at her apartment.

There were only a few and, unsurprisingly, were of her family. At least, she _assumed_ them to be family. Clover hadn’t heard much about them— no more than what Moira opened up about. She’d heard her talk about her mother _maybe_ once in passing.

She tilted her head, leaning closer to examine a photo of what she suspected to be the two of them. It was older— Moira, for one, had _longer hair,_ pulled back into a sporty ponytail. She was also dressed for a tennis match, racket in hand. She looked youthful.

Cute… but not the vibe she came to love.

Beside her was a woman that looked damn near identical to how she looked in the present day. Her hair was longer as well, but the resemblance was uncanny.

Moira stepped over, offering a mug. Clover accepted it and thanked her quietly.

“So you _do_ have company.”

“Shut up, Gabe,” Clover called. Before she revealed herself, she shoved her hand in Moira’s pocket and dug around for her underwear. Unsurprisingly, she found it. 

Moira shrugged innocently, walking back to the living room.

“You know,” his tone seemed more cheerful than it had moments before, “you should really start telling me about these things. You two could make me a rich man.”

She didn’t have to be in the room to know that Moira gave him a dangerous look.

Once finding a place to set the mug, Clover tugged the garment back on. Finally fully dressed, she made her way into the living room.

A few boxes were littered around, half filled. She wished she could have seen it fully decorated— the windows were huge, leading out onto a balcony. She had ample space even if it was just for her.

Even being half furnished, it felt… _empty_. Moira had nice furniture and a nice view, sure, but there didn’t seem to be any personality to the space.

She must look like hell, judging by the way Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up. She settled onto the love seat beside Moira, uncomfortably pressing herself against the arm. Would it be weird to look _too_ friendly with her? He knew they’d slept together, that much was obvious, but how much PDA was too much?

The three sat in an extended silence, sipping their respective coffee.

Eventually, Gabriel cleared his throat. “So, did you hear about—“

“You’re stalling.” Moira called him out on his attempt at small talk. ”Why are you here?”

Gabriel sighed, relaxing into the couch. He set his drink aside, not before Moira pointedly shoved a coaster towards him.

“Well, I didn’t think Clover would be here.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he spoke. “Kinda makes it weird, now.”

She frowned. “Weird how?”

Gabriel glanced at her, and then at Moira. Choosing his words carefully _._

“Angela wants your head on a spike, Moira.”

Moira barked out a laugh. “Yes, I’m well aware. She made that _quite_ clear last we spoke.” Unbothered, she raised her mug to her lips.

Gabriel pulled out his phone and turned it towards them. Moira suddenly gagged on her coffee, and Clover felt faint.

The image in question was one of _them_ , kissing on the dance floor the night before.

“Who sent you this?” Moira demanded, grabbing the phone.

Gabriel raised his hands defensively. “She sent it to me, asking if I knew about it.”

Clover frowned, tucking her feet up on the love seat, mindful of Moira. She glanced aside, trying to think of who would…

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t find the energy to pull her eyes away from a knot in the wood flooring, to look back to them. 

“For fuck’s sake,” she breathed.

Moira turned to her after passing the phone back. “What?”

Her hazel eyes flicked over. She set her drink down with a sigh. “Jamie— _Dr. Brackley,—_ initially invited me to the show last night.”

Moira looked confused by this. “You called that insufferable troglodyte a— what? ‘ _Fucking tool_ ’, was it? Why would he—”

Clover shushed her. “We _used_ to be friends. Past tense. We went through undergrad and graduate school together. Ever since we both got internships here, though, he’s just been…” she trailed off. She wasn’t sure _how_ he’d been acting. Rude, obviously, but there was more there.

“ _Anyway._ He’s got to be behind this. Why? I’m not sure, but I have no doubt.”

Moira rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Who’s seen this?”

“As far as I know, just the three of us, Angela, and… Jack.”

“ _Jack,”_ Moira repeated, laughing dryly. Then, with a wave of her hand. “Surely it doesn’t matter _now._ I work for _you_ , Commander.”

_Commander?_

She thought—

Forget it, question for another time.

Gabriel spread his hands. “You’ve got to know how this looks, though, Moira. He thinks it’s been going on a lot longer than it has, especially after your stint with Ziegler. He won’t be forgiving again.”

“Of course not, he took her side.”

Gabriel sighed, and that aged look crossed his features again. It made Clover wonder just exactly what stress he’d been put under. “He’s still the Commander of Overwatch, and that goes even over my head.” Then, with hands splayed, “You know I have to ask— _how long_ have you been seeing each other, exactly?”

Moira glared at him from over her coffee. 

Clover frowned at her silence. “Since Oasis,” she clarified for her. 

“ _Clover.”_

She frowned at the tone she was given. It was akin to that of when she’d been reprimanded in the lab early on.

Gabriel nodded, sitting back. “What you _meant_ to say was yesterday.”

Confusion crossed her features. Moira sighed, setting her drink down. “ _After_ I was fired, darling. They have no way to prove otherwise.”

He looked between them. “Look, I’ve known for a while this was coming. I don’t _care_ , as long as it doesn’t interfere with your job. You _both_ know that. But now, you’re both my responsibility. Don’t let your emotions cause room for error, alright?”

Moira mumbled something, while Clover assured him it wouldn’t be an issue.

He glanced over Clover. “First thing we work on with you is lying.”

“I didn’t lie about anything? I told you the truth.”

“Precisely,” both responded, as though it were obvious.


	24. Chapter 24

Gabriel only lingered for another half hour before deciding he had elsewhere to be. Clover offered to put the trio of empty mugs in the sink as Moira excused herself to the patio.

For a moment she watched her through the door. She was leaned forward against the railing, her back to Clover. She was smoking again— of course, she’d known from day one that she had. Truthfully, it didn’t bother her; there were worse vices she could have taken up. It wasn’t her place to speak on. She’d always been respectful around her, which is all that she asked.

She appeared lost in thought, gazing out into the neighborhood. The light spring breeze licked her copper hair to the side. It was still a little odd seeing her in a casual state.

Eventually, she decided to join her. She trailed her fingers along her waist, ghosting them across her lower back. She placed her hands on the railing as settled beside her.

The last thing she wanted to do was infringe on Moira’s privacy. Yet, if they were going to be serious, there was a burning question she sought the answer for.

Very hesitantly, she poised what was on her mind. “If… if it’s not too much, can I ask why you and Angela separated?”

Moira crushed the end of the cigarette on the rail. The wind nudged ashes over the edge. Her answer didn’t come right away— Clover expected as much. She took her time, piecing together the proper thoughts before speaking them.

“We had vastly different visions for the future. That, from my understanding, is what it came down to.”

She took another drag, pausing between thoughts.

“She was— _is,—_ wholly content remaining boxed in, limited by the organization on what she can and can not do. My ‘insatiable thirst’ for results did not do me any favors. She claimed it would be my undoing.”

Her eyes went to her lavender hand, examining as she flexed her fingers. The tips began to fade before solidifying again.

“At times, I begin to believe she was right.”

The forlorn look that crossed her features bothered Clover. She wondered just how deeply the experiment had affected her. It wasn’t unusual for her to seem nonchalant. What all did she have bottled up?

Moira sighed and laid the hand over Clover’s. “Looking back, I’m sure it came from a place of concern.”

“But you’re obstinate.”

“Didn’t we have a conversation about reciting the thesaurus?” Moira chided. Despite her words, Clover could tell she wasn’t offended. It _was_ a fact, after all, that Moira was stubborn.

Clover looked up to her. She wouldn’t meet her eyes, focused on the street below. “Is that why she yelled at you in the break room?”

She shrugged, starting to dig for another cigarette. “There were many reasons, which would you like to hear about? My reckless neglect of safety practices? My blatant disregard for ethical standards? Or, perhaps, my ongoing self-destructive tendencies?” 

She placed the cigarette between her lips and, after cupping her hands around the end, sparked the lighter. Once it was lit, she slipped the lighter back into the carton. She flicked the ash aside.

Clover wasn’t sure how to respond. Moira took the opportunity to change the subject.

“Why is it that Dr. Brackley seems intent on harassing you?”

Clover pushed her hair back, letting out a heavy sigh. it was only fair; she had asked Moira a personal question and received one in turn.

“We were friends in college— I think I mentioned that.” Moira nodded, confirming that she had.

“We… Well, we were neck and neck, first in the graduating group last year. Yet, somehow he managed to get _just_ above me.”

“I admit, I… I got a bit jealous. It shouldn’t matter, not now. But then he got cocky and overly pretentious. It didn’t sit right with me. He was no longer the man I knew. So, I just… stopped talking to him, gradually.” She drew her fingers along the railing. She traced the spots where it was evident Moira had crushed embers into the metal time and time again.

“I didn’t know he had gotten an internship here as well. Not surprising, he’s quite intelligent. Just… he acts as if I’m beneath him— they all do. The interns, I mean. He acts like it’s some big deal if they don’t accept me. Is it, though?” She frowned, looking down to the street below.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. Gently, Moira stroked her thumb along her arm. ”Do you think it is?”

Clover shrugged. “I don’t know. I was happy in the lab. Work is work, and not to be a suck-up, but our work was genuinely interesting. I became friends with McCree, Genji, Gabe… even you, despite thinking you absolutely _despised_ me at the beginning.”

Moira made a soft noise of acknowledgement, but didn't speak.

“He made it out to be like it was interdicted to even associate with you.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Yet, I’d rather be friends with people who don’t make me feel as if I’m inferior.”

She blew smoke away from Clover, gesturing with the cigarette. “That doesn’t answer the question, though. _Why_ is he bothering _you_? He could have his pick at anyone. There are lower rungs on the ladder, if you will.”

Frowning, Clover shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I don’t _think_ I did anything.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t.”

Clover scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” she muttered.

Violet nails, clipped shorter than normal, gently brushed through her hair. The sensation was welcome. “I _am_ on your side, darling. There’s no justification for him treating you in such a way. However, you’d be wise to learn from my mistakes and communicate rather than assume the worst.”

She sighed. leaning into the welcomed touch. “Unfortunately, you’re right. I should… figure out what this is all about.” Clover frowned at the thought of having to confront him.

Clover glanced behind them, back into the apartment. “What do you plan on doing with all of your stuff?”

Moira followed her eyes. “That depends on the living situation. I was researching housing options in Rome last night, but… at this point it seems _tedious_ to continue to move in circles. I may end up placing everything in storage and rent the bare necessities.”

That was something she could relate to. She’d first packed up her life to move from the Netherlands to England for school, and then once more when she accepted the job at Overwatch. It was more energy than it was worth to be moving so frequently, it felt like.

“And your car?”

“Going with me, _obviously._ ”

Clover gave her a funny look. “That’s, like, a nine hour drive, Moira.”

“And?” She took one last drag before snubbing the end on the railing, marring the metal in a new spot. “I refuse to sell my car.”

“I didn’t imply you should— That’s just quite a long drive.”

Moira ruffled her hair. The hand went to her back, pulling her in closer. “Since you have quite the aversion to flying, I had thought you would _prefer_ it.”

The thought of getting on a plane again so soon made her stomach flip. She’d rather throw herself off the balcony.

“Driving it is,” she agreed.


	25. Chapter 25

When Jamie agreed to meet with her, anxiety had overtaken Clover’s thoughts. As much as she wanted to understand the crux of their fighting, she didn’t want to see him in person. It was better, though, to talk it out. At least, she tried to remind herself it was.

They had arranged to meet at a small cafe outside of the headquarters. Clover had ordered a small drink to at least look busy while she waited.

Upon arriving, he took a seat across from her. “Surprised you reached out.” His tone was clipped. It was obvious he was withholding what she was sure he truly wanted to say.

“Yeah, well…” she shrugged. “I don’t like whatever’s going on between us.”

He made a non-committed noise.

Clover leaned forward, fingers knitting together. “Why did you feel the need to share a photo of me and Dr. O’Deorain with your boss?” She was not in the mood to play games or skirt around the issue.

Jamie sat back in his chair. “Why else?” He studied her face, waiting for it to dawn on her. When the epiphany didn’t occur he rolled his eyes. “I want you to understand what’s _happening._ I’m concerned for you.”

Clover narrowed her eyes. “You’re concerned? Well, you have quite the way of showing it.”

“You’re acting _acquiescent_ , Clover,” he clarified. “You follow that woman around like a lost puppy. Can’t you see it?”

Her anxiety ebbed away, replaced by the temper she’d been attempting to prune back. The more he spoke, the faster it grew. “Such a hypocritical comment from someone who worships the ground Dr. Ziegler walks upon.”

“Well, at least I’m not fucking my boss, am I?”

Lips pursed, Clover nodded stiffly. “You’re right, James. Maybe if you were getting some action, you wouldn’t feel the need to be so invested in mine.”

She’d struck a nerve within him, evident in the slight twitch of his brow and flare of his nostrils. “You wouldn’t know if I am or not. Not like you keep up with me these days...” 

“A telephone works both ways—”

“I have _tried_ ,” he interrupted. “I tried _texting_ , only to be _ignored_. I tried inviting you out and instead you decided to take your _boss_ on a _date._ One that I invited you on!”

He leaned over and began to search through his bag. “Ever since moving you’ve _changed._ ”

He threw down a folder onto the table. Clover glanced between it and him, and at his motioned insistence she pulled it closer.

“You used to _care_ about research. You used to care about following procedure, going about things the right way.”

Clover flipped through the papers. They were printouts of articles— all recent, namely about Moira’s paper. A headache was beginning to form from grinding her teeth together.

“Your boss is tarnishing her own name, Clover. No one can reproduce her results. That makes her work _invalid_. Do you not care about the meaning of academia anymore? Do you not care about how this could look for _you?_ ”

Clover abruptly shoved the folder back towards him. “I care about finding the truth,” she snapped. “No great discoveries come without a leap of faith.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, exasperated. “A ‘leap of faith’? Clover, she’s playing _god_.”

“Perhaps she’s tired of being stifled by this narrow minded world!” Clover snapped. “Are you so satisfied running the same tests over and over, receiving the same results, James? Aren’t you tired of being told what you can and can not do?” Paradoxical laughter fell from her lips as she pushed her hair away from her face. “The possibilities are _endless_ and we’ve been forbidden from seeking them,— why? Because someone could get hurt? People get hurt every day over less.”

Shock crossed his face. His eyes darted back and forth as he looked over her, absorbing her words.

“You’re blinded by your attraction... There’s a reason things are done the way they are, you know that. You’d risk everything over a woman you barely know?”

Clover pushed away from the table. “That will never change if someone doesn’t step up and break the cycle,” she hissed. “Besides— I know her better than _anyone._ You will _never_ understand.”

“You’ve known her for, like, six months,” he sputtered.

She started to walk away, but he quickly caught up. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” she snapped. “You won’t have to worry about seeing me again, so stop being so _concerned_.”

He faltered in his steps. He grabbed her wrist to stop her, only for Clover to wretch it from his grasp. “What do you mean?”

She laughed again. “Moira was _fired_. I’m sure you know that, though. No head geneticist means no _internship_. I don’t work here anymore.”

Concern crossed his face— perhaps pity. “Then where will you go? Are you going to finish out your year…?

She couldn’t tell him about Blackwatch. No, he likely didn’t know. Internally, she scrambled to think of an appropriate answer.

“I’m transferring to Gibraltar.” A white lie. She prayed it would fly. “There’s another program down there. I’m going to finish up and then… move on. I don’t want to stay here any longer. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Clover gave him sarcastic jazz hands while backing away. “Congratulations, James. You get to enjoy your happy little life in nanobiology. Have fun staying boxed in for an eternity.”

She turned on her heel, leaving him behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but hopefully efficient... updates will be slowing down drastically, unfortunately. I’m returning to school and I have an unfortunate obligation to my job 😔


	26. Chapter 26

“I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

Upon arriving in Rome, she’d had no time to herself. There had been a sliver of a day where Moira had helped her carry boxes into her new apartment before Clover did the same for her. It was a welcome convenience that they were neighbors; Moira had moved in across the hall.

Clover hadn’t even been able to unpack a clean outfit before Reyes summoned them both to the Blackwatch headquarters. Immediately they’d been separated— Gabe had uttered something about showing Moira the labs. He’d instructed McCree to take Clover down to the shooting range and start practicing.

Jesse sighed, double and triple checking the safety on a pulse pistol before laying it in front of her. “It’s a skill that you should know.”

She eyed it warily. “Not one that I want,” she muttered.

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Look, sunflower,” he started. “I know this is probably not ideal for you. But you heard Reyes— if you don’t want to be sent straight back to Switzerland, you gotta _try.”_

Clover’s nose scrunched up as she made a face. She still didn’t understand why Moira would cash in on what sounded like a hefty debt for her. Yet, she owed it to her to _try_ , and to the rest of the group.

“Okay,” she conceded. She delicately picked up the weapon, checking over the different switches and buttons. His judgmental gaze bore on her. Tightening her grip, she held it with intent. 

“First rule— every gun is loaded. Never assume they’re not. Second— don’t point at anything you don’t intend to kill. Keeping it tilted down is usually a good rule of thumb.” 

As she did just that, he cringed and adjusted her position. “Just… not towards the feet. More towards the side.”

Clover looked up to him with apprehension. He continued on, gesturing towards the safety. “Keep this on until you’re certain you’ve made an enemy.”

He pulled out his own revolver. She only knew the style because he went on and on frequently about it, and how _superior_ it compared to other handguns. At times it had been hard to get him to shut up about it. Usually Genji would notice she was too polite to interrupt and remind him that _no one cared_.

He continued on with their lesson. He demonstrated proper trigger discipline, how to line up the sight, and other important odds and ends.

Jesse adjusted her ear protection. “Now watch and learn somethin’.”

It didn’t take him more than a breath to line up his sight with the target. As he discharged a round, the deafening _crack_ caused Clover to shrink away. 

Her hazel eyes scanned the target at the end of the range. It took her a moment to find the hole. She’d been examining the middle rings, but he’d landed a bullseye.

“I don’t expect you to do that, tulip.” He holstered his weapon. “I’ve been shooting since I could hold a gun. Just show me what you can do and we’ll work from there.”

Her thumb grazed the safety as she lined up her shot. She flicked it down, and when Jesse didn’t say anything, she figured she was doing _fine._ Just nervous holding a weapon. What could go wrong?

She could miss. It could ricochet. It could hit him. Freak accidents happened, there _was_ a slight probability—

Clover swapped the safety back on and set it down, looking like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. She’d successfully freaked herself out. “I can’t do this. I’ll hurt you.”

He tried to hide his laugh. “You won’t,” he assured her. “Just take a second to gather yourself.”

Clover gestured. “I think I mean all of _this_ , not just… not just the range. I’m a _scientist,_ not a field agent.”

Jesse scratched at his stubble. “I know. Daunting, ain’t it?”

He motioned to her. “Which is exactly why you’re gonna be up in the labs, putting those smarts to good use. This? This is just in case.”

“Then why don’t the other casuals have to go through this training? I’m sure the secretary doesn’t have a rifle hidden away under the front desk.”

He rubbed at his chin, thinking. “Now that you mentioned it, it wouldn't be a bad idea—”

“ _McCree._ ”

Jesse shrugged. “Reyes sees something in you. I dunno what he owed O’Deorain for, but he’d never risk someone’s safety over something so trivial. Now, are you gonna believe in yourself like we believe in you, or are you gonna run back upstairs to the safety of your little test tubes?”

 _We._ Implying Jesse and Reyes both saw potential in her. Surely Moira did as well, or she wouldn’t have been adamant about her joining them.

Clover tightened her ponytail with determination. She straightened her safety glasses, then her ear protection, and nodded sternly.

Lifting the weapon, she focused down the sight towards the target. Flipping the safety, she took a deep breath and held it for a moment.

On the exhale she fired.

The kickback caused her to jolt a little, but she didn’t misfire or sling the gun aside like an idiot.

“Hey, not bad! Most people miss their first time.”

Clover blinked, squinting down the range as she tried to pick out the shot. She’d managed to get the outer ring— still within the target.

His hand went to her shoulder. She’d grown to expect the heavy handed gestures from both him and Reyes.

After flicking the safety back on, she set the pistol on the counter. “Still doesn’t mean I like it.”

He laughed. “Maybe whatever Genji’s got waiting for ya will be more your speed. Would hate to get in a fist fight with you.” At Clover’s quizzical look, he clarified. “The small ones are always the angriest.”

Frowning, she studied his face. “I’m not angry?”

“Eh, you’re probably right, sunflower.” He jokingly slugged her in the shoulder (ow, that one did hurt).

“Why do you insist on the flower nicknames? Not that I mind.”

Shrugging, he began to check over his revolver. “Something, something, low hanging fruit.” After a moment he gave her a wolfish grin. Clover scoffed at his half assed innuendo.

They continued on with training. Clover did miss a few shots but managed to stay mostly within the target. Her precision was nowhere near Jesse’s, of course, but it felt nice to know her poor eyesight wasn’t entirely useless.

After a while, they took a break. She thanked Jesse as he passed her a water.

“Hey,” she started, looking up to him. “You said it’s ‘daunting‘ earlier. That you know it is. Was that… personal experience, or just trying to sympathize?”

The crunch of his drained bottle was an assault on her senses. He tossed it into the trash before addressing her question. “Guess you could call it ’personal experience’,” the cowboy explained. “I wasn’t always workin’ for the good guys.”

She tilted her head. “No?”

He shook his head, resting his lower back on the edge of the counter. “Nah. Used to run around with a real wily crew. Got into a lot of trouble.”

“And?”

“'And’ what?”

She motioned to the general area. “How did you end up here?”

Jesse sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “Reyes took me in. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be witherin’ in a jail cell as we speak. Gave me an ultimatum— get better or get lost.”

Clover scanned his expression. He was hard to read— not as hard as Genji, but still difficult when he was guarded. “Do you ever miss it?”

Jesse shrugged. “Parts, I suppose. Some could have ended up good people. Some were funny. Most started because they wanted a better life, and then got too deep to quit.”

“Is that why you joined?”

He scratched at his beard. “Moira ever give you flack for being nosy?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “I think she likes it.” The response pulled a smile from him.

“I did some farming as side work before I got roped in,” he explained, keeping it vague. “Didn’t exactly pay the bills.” When he didn’t continue, she got the hint that he was no longer in the mood to deep dive into his past.

Clearing his throat, he began to reload his revolver. “Back to it, then.”

Clover nodded, looking down. “Back to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a playlist everyone
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2piptVEPaa7bEaMlhGAu8Q?si=sBEia13yRs6C_EvMWUbx1g
> 
> Also, feel free to follow me on Twitter @elaisians


	27. Chapter 27

A terrified scream echoed off the walls as her body plunged through empty space. Her hair licked angrily at her face, her hands clawing desperately for a hold to slow her descent. It wasn’t until the abrupt stop, when she was left winded and gulping for air, that Clover realized she had been the one shrieking.

She hung limply in her harness, trying to remember how to breathe in and out. Somewhere above her, the bell of the rockwall rang out.

The safety lines whizzed briefly as Genji repelled down the wall. He came to stop beside her. With a blur of his hands, he released himself from the confines of the safety equipment and skillfully dropped to the floor. He began to assist her.

“You’ll get it next time,” he assured her. His voice was kind, but his eyes were apologetic.

His fingers worked quickly. As the latches were undone, Clover tumbled the floor with much less grace and an accompanying _oof_. She gave Reyes a shaky thumbs up, laying there for several long moments while she regained her bearings.

From his spot on the sidelines, he had his head buried in a palm. “Take a break. We’ll come back to it later.”

Truth be told, she was exhausted. Each morning, she was expected to go for her daily run with him. It didn’t take long for the running to turn into jogging _._ Her calves would burn and a stitch in her side would set in before the end of the route. Then, after showering, she’d spend several hours in the lab with Moira. She’d picked up work on her altered biotic serum once again. 

Gabriel popped in more often than not, having taken an interest in the project. At times, Clover would enter the lab and find them in hushed conversation. Shortly after he would find an excuse to leave. 

Admittedly she didn’t think too hard on it. She’d been distracted with training.

In the afternoons she would cycle through partners. Twice a week each with Jesse, Genji and Gabe. Jesse was working with her on firearms training, Genji with her melee and hand-to-hand combat. Gabriel preferred whatever he felt was important. That afternoon he’d decided to work on her endurance.

The last time she’d seen Moira outside of work, she’d fallen asleep on the couch before she had even finished preparing dinner. Her girlfriend had been far too polite to wake her and instead stored leftovers in the fridge. Clover was still peeved over passing out on date night.

There were perks that came out of her newfound schedule. On mornings Reyes took her to the gym, she’d find Moira already halfway through a workout. She’d often be on the treadmill, jogging while browsing notes on a datapad.

Clover hadn’t known what was missing from her life. Each time she saw those ridiculously long legs in athletic leggings, she considered picking up religion to thank any and all deities that led such a woman into her life.

As she pushed herself up, her legs felt unsteady and her arms like noodles. _It’ll get easier,_ she could hear Jesse assuring her from the back of her thoughts.

 _Sure it does_.

Clover dusted her legs off before halfway limping over to Genji. As she got closer she forced herself to walk normally even if it ached.

“Were you ever…?” She gestured behind her wildly at the rock wall. “You know? _Bad_ at all of this?”

Genji looked over her. She was sweaty, felt grimy, and worn to the bone. No doubt it showed.

Shrugging, he looked up to the wall. “I have always been athletic.” He folded his arms across his chest. _Always guarded, too._ “Though, I spent years wasting my potential.”

Clover nodded, eyebrows furrowed. “Very cryptic.”

The barest hint of a smirk ticked at the corner of his scarred lips.

“I spent many hours staring at the arcade machines,” he confided. A small spark of memory lit up within his eyes. “I grew lazy, yes, but having the highest score on most machines felt like a greater accomplishment at the time .”

He frowned, then, still remembering. From what she understood, only Jesse knew most of his past. He didn’t discuss it, and a Clover never pried. As curious as she was, she would respect Genji’s privacy. He was reserved for reasons she would never be able to comprehend, it felt like.

Clover nodded. She didn’t extend her condolences, or her sympathy. She understood it wasn’t always needed, and Genji seemed like the type who didn’t need other’s commiseration.

“You’re only human.” Something in his tone was off, almost bitter. Though, she had a feeling it wasn’t directed at her. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ll break."

“You are, too,” she reminded him. “I know it, Jesse knows it, and you know it, too.”

Genji’s eyes met hers. She couldn’t distinguish the emotion in them— they were hard, dark. She regret speaking her thoughts.

They shifted over her shoulder. “I believe Reyes wishes to speak with you,” was all he said before walking away. 

Turning, she saw that he was right. Gabriel was staring her down _hard_.

“Something wrong, Commander?”

Gabriel sighed, beginning to walk. He motioned her to follow along. “You can still call me Gabe, you know.”

“I know. Just like grinding your gears. Would have loved to know that little fact before I was roped into working under you.”

“You can leave at any time.”

“I’d rather die than return to Zurich,” she spat.

He stopped her, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “Don’t say that, Haugen.” The scolding caught her off guard.

“Just being in Overwatch, let alone _Blackwatch_ , opens you up to a slew of dangers.” He dropped his arm. “You shouldn’t wish an early death upon yourself, because it could be closer than you anticipate.”

Remorse swallowed her. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I… I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s fine.” Something told her it wasn’t. He changed the subject, though, as he led her down the hall and towards the locker room. “I was just letting you know that I’m cutting your training short today. I have some business to see through the rest of the week. Out of the country. You know how it is.”

Grabbing a fresh towel, he tossed it at her. “Now, you’re a big girl. I’m entrusting you to not hide around in bed for three days.”

Clover rolled her eyes as she caught it. “Of course not. I _am_ taking this seriously. Are my blood, sweat and tears not enough?”

He leaned against the door frame. “I have yet to see blood.”

She glared at him.

Defensively, he raised his hands. “You’re doing alright with Jesse in the range,” he continued. “Your sparring with Genji could still use some work, but you’re getting along just fine. Keep it up, and just maybe one day you’ll be in a position to spar with me.”

Clover elbowed him. “Wouldn't that be the day.” She began to head into the women’s room before he stopped her.

“Speaking of those two, Jesse and Genji will also be out of town for unrelated reasons. I expect you to continue to at _least_ continue your runs. Maybe throw in some basic workouts while you’re at it; and _no_ , sex with O’Deorain _doesn’t_ count as cardio.”

Clover sputtered, face hot. “Yeah, well, you haven’t exactly left time for _personal recreation_ these last few weeks.”

“Just the way I like it.”

Scoffing, she turned and pushed the door open. However, she lingered in the doorway, her hesitation evident.

“Hey,” she looked back to him. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to get on with her question. “Why, uh… why waste all this time on me? I’m not going to magically ‘get good’ overnight.”

Gabriel sighed. “I owed Moira.”

“That’s all people would tell me.” She gripped the frame, staring up at him intently. Whatever it was, it seemed only Gabriel and Moira knew. Clover didn’t handle being kept in the dark very well.

“What did she do for you that something like this is seen as an equal exchange?”

Slowly, he licked his lips. He was piecing his thoughts together carefully. As he began walking away, he threw his response over his shoulder.”

“No one said it was equal, Haugen,” was all he left her with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reyes you sour little lemon


	28. Chapter 28

Clover tilted her head back under the spray. With closed eyes, she began to rinse shampoo away from her face. 

“What did Gabe owe you for, anyway?”

Outside the shower, Moira was likely undressing. “I did him a favor.” The answer was as unhelpful as the last seven times she had heard it.

A blast of cold air startled Clover, but she was quickly warmed again by the streams of water cascading down her front. Moira closed the door behind her as she settled into the shower alongside her.

The facility showers never left her feeling _clean._ She’d washed off as much sweat and grime as possible in the locker room, but had waited on a proper shower until returning to her apartment. It didn’t take any convincing to invite Moira over. It was one of the rare evenings where they’d be able to spend time together uninterrupted knowing most of their small group was out of the country.

Clover exhaled through her nose, looking through her eyelashes. Without her glasses, she could make out Moira’s general form, but details became hazy. 

“Yes, _quid pro quo_ , Moira _._ I’m well aware how favors work. What _exactly_ did it entail?”

Moira sighed, drawing her closer, out of the spray. “I can’t say, bunny. You’d only worry yourself in circles if you knew.”

She frowned. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Then, after a moment of thinking about it, “do you not trust me?”

Moira brushed stray droplets from her cheek. “Don’t pout— I trust you more than _anyone_ , darling, but… I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say. I gave Gabriel my word.”

She learned forward, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t long before the tender action was replaced with one of selfish intentions.

Clover rolled her eyes as she felt Moira’s lips on her neck. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

“Mm,” she hummed. “No, I believe _you_ have distracted _me_.”

Clover stepped forward, trapping her against the wall. “Little old me?” She feigned innocence. “I don’t _think_ I’ve done anything…”

Moira’s arms snaked around her waist. “You don’t have to. Seeing you is enough. I fear I’m becoming _softer_ each time we meet.. _.”_

Clover grinned. She trailed a hand down Moira’s front, enjoying the way her muscles twitched beneath her touch. She walked her fingers along her hip before deftly snatching the conditioner from the shelf.

After squeezing a generous amount into her palm, she set the bottle down again and began to work on coating the ends of her hair.

“I like your edges. They make you _mysterious,_ ” she teased. “But… I like how vulnerable you seem around me these days. It makes me feel… special, I guess.”

“You _are_ special.”

Clover scoffed, reaching for her body wash. Moira intercepted it and pulled her loofah from the wall with a _pop_. “Hardly.”

She turned, putting her back to Moira. She could hear the sound of the soap being opened, then closed, before the floral fragrance hit her.

“Now why wouldn’t you believe as much?” Moira murmured in her ear. Her hands wandered, drawing the loofah across her body. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’m not a ‘people person’, as McCree would say.”

“Can we not talk about Jesse while we’re naked and your hands are on me?”

Her chiding rewarded her with a soft chuckle in her ear. “As you wish. I don’t allow people in so easily. Thus, my question still stands; why do you not see yourself as I see you?”

Clover pulled her hair over her shoulder as Moira worked at her back. She twisted at the strands, pulling the conditioner from the ends. “And how, exactly, do you see me?”

Moira hummed, taking her sweet time as she considered the question. “I believe you are on your way to becoming an astute neurogeneticist. You are patient with me, as much as you can be, and it doesn’t go unappreciated.”

Her thumbs pressed into the spot between her shoulder blades. Clover could have melted then and there as she began to work out knots. “You are beautiful. You are vigilant, and seem to be quite an empath. Despite how I attempted to wall you off, you still managed to find a way in.”

Clover glanced over her shoulder. “That all?” She stepped into the water once more to begin rinsing off.

“You’re brazen at times, and often let your emotions get the best of you. You’ll fling yourself headfirst into an argument to defend your pride and, evidently, _me_.”

She peeked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“You didn’t have to defend me to Dr. Brackley,” Moira explained. “I have been called worse by more important people.”

Sighing, Clover shook her head. “He deserved it.” She frowned at the thought of their last encounter. Of how he had scolded Moira’s work, called it _invalid_. Accused her of ‘playing god’.

The conversation had plagued her thoughts. Part of her knee that… he was _right_ . Her paper had gone against everything Overwatch— and most of the world— believed in. Yet, she couldn’t deny the discoveries Moira had made. Her work, surely, would go on to help many, _many_ people.

...Wouldn’t it?

“You know, this shower has become nonerotic with all this talk of others.”

Her wet hair was drawn back as lips found her ear. “Agreed. I’d much rather focus on you, _mo stór álainn.”_

“First of all, I like to focus on you too, you know _._ Second— translate?” It was a rare request.

Still wielding the loofah, Moira's hands grazed her ribs before moving around to lazily lather her front. “My beautiful treasure.” 

The endearing compliment (and her casualness with such an intimate act) made Clover flush. She didn’t even care that Moira had brushed off her initial comment. “I’m nothing to treasure,” she argued. “I’m just… me.”

Moira shook her head. “No, darling. You are perhaps the greatest, and most unexpected, person to come into my life. You’ve brought nothing but fortune in your path.”

“Perhaps you truly _are_ lucky.” A smirk pulled on her lips. Teasing. It was the first time Moira had cracked a joke about her unfortunate name.

Scoffing, Clover swat at her hands, no ill intent behind the action. “And you’re cheesy.”

Moira laughed, suctioning the scrub back onto the wall. “Would you prefer me to recite poetry instead? _I know a place where the sun is like_ gold—“

Clover wheeled around and pressed her hands up, silencing Moira, still laughing as she did. “No! No, you’re fine! No poetry!”

As she felt Moira laugh beneath her fingers, she pulled away. Her hands settled on her arms instead, thumbs lovingly stroking them. 

“Hurry up and get clean,” she murmured, pulling her down for a sweet kiss. “I’m hungry.”

Moira indulged, their lips moving together slowly. Uttering a low noise, she practically had to push them apart to breathe a simple, one worded question.

“ _For?_ ”

Clover grinned against her lips.

Before Moira could grab her and undoubtedly demolish any plans of a proper dinner, Clover stole away out of the shower. She couldn’t help but to grin as she heard a noise of disbelief come from the abandoned woman.

“Take a proper shower and _then_ we’ll talk.” She snatched her towel from the rack on her way out. 

As she began to scrunch her hair in the fabric, the familiar sound of vibrations on ceramic drew her attention. Her phone was vibrating in her forgotten pile of clothes in the sink. The lenses of her glasses were obscured with steam. Through the haze, she could barely make out the number, but noted the Netherlands calling code.

Her eyebrows creased at the sight. Why…?

Behind her, she could hear Moira fiddling with her wild assortment of bath products. “How do you feel about takeout and a movie?”

Clover looked up to the shower door. “Uh— yeah, that’s fine.” She hastily tucked her towel around her body. “Just pick something.”

Moira slid the door open and poked her head out. Her hair was now soaked, plastered to her forehead. “You’re quite the picky eater. Are you certain you wish me to—?”

Clover cut her off. “I have to take this.” Then, realizing how rude she sounded, added a halfhearted “—sorry.”

Without stopping to see Moira’s expression or hear her response, she dashed out of the bathroom.

Sinking onto the edge of her bed, she stared at the phone in her hands. Dread settled within her. Had something happened? Was something wrong?

With trembling fingers, she answered the call and raised the phone to her ear.

“ _Met Haugen_.”

“ _Goedenavond_ ,” the woman on the other end greeted in return. “This is Evi, Pieter Haugen’s home care nurse. Is this his daughter?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, picking at the lint from her comforter. “This is she. Is something wrong?”

“No, no!” Evi assured. “It’s just been a while since you’ve called, I thought you would like an update on him. Is this a convenient time?”

Clover glanced up towards the bathroom. She could still hear the sounds of the shower running. “Now’s fine. How is he…?”

“He‘s been up and down,” the nurse admitted. “Doing well today, but it’s hard to say for sure where he’ll be this time next week.”

Clover nodded to the empty room, unsure what to say. There was a pause between them, and she tried to think of _something_ to fill the empty air.

Evi was the one to break the silence. And when she did, Clover’s world lurched sideways.

“He asked about you.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a bit of a rollercoaster

She felt as though she’d fallen off the rock wall again, straight into the Olympic swimming pool the facility insisted on keeping chilled. Clover ran a palm over her chest. “Asked about me?”

“Yes,” Evi confirmed. “He had a moment of clarity earlier today. He asked about you, wanted to see you.”

The news should make her feel ecstatic. She should be weeping with joy. Yet, all she wanted to do was weep in general. “Is that why you’re calling, then?”

A pause. “Yes,” Evi finally responded. “This is a good thing, Ms. Haugen, he’s—”

“Don’t you dare say _improving,”_ she whispered. 

Clover cleared her throat before continuing. “You’re a nurse. You should know that there is no explanation on _why_ these moments occur. He won’t remember what he had for dinner by the time he goes to bed. They’re flukes, and nothing else.”

Unfortunately, she knew that they _were_ more than random flukes. Moments of clarity were often a bad omen. They often meant the end was in sight.

Evi sighed on the other end. “You’re right, Ms. Haugen. Apologies for lying, but… It’s been several years now. He’s getting worse by the day, and frankly, I’m afraid you won’t have much longer to see him.”

Beyond the remark, all she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears. It acted as a resentful drum to her thoughts.

“Forgive me, Evi,” she interrupted, “but I’m afraid that’s none of your concern.” Her voice was clipped. “Thank you for the update, but now _isn’t_ a good time. From now on only contact me if it’s an emergency.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Haugen, I was only—“

“ _Doctor_ Haugen _,_ ” she sharply corrected before ending the call. A petty response that didn’t make her feel any better.

The shower was no longer running. Her eyes flicked over to the bathroom door, where Moira was leaning against the frame. Water was still pouring from her frame as she toweled off. The woman had cut her shower short to check on her.

“Something important?”

She was thankful the conversation had been in Dutch. “Ah… no, just damn spam calls.” She tossed her phone aside.

Moira scanned her. “You’re an awful liar, Clover.”

Standing, she made her way over to her dresser. “It was nothing. Honest.” _Don’t push me on it._

She started pulling drawers open with more force than necessary. Haphazardly, she began to toss comfortable clothes onto the bed. “Did you decide on dinner?”

Slender arms looped under her own, dragging her back against the geneticist’s chest. Moira pressed her nose into Clover’s damp hair. “Are you tired of the local fare yet, or would you prefer something international?”

Clover shrugged. “I told you to pick.”

“Yes, and I’m asking what you’d like,” she whispered against her ear. “Which is it?”

She scowled as she couldn’t find the t-shirt she’d swindled from Moira after their… what? Would it be considered their first date? She’d wanted to wear it, but it’s location eluded her. Just another irritation to add to a long list. “Just… whatever, _I don’t care._ ”

Moira squeezed her before relenting. Typically she’d watch her walk out of the room, admire her towel-clad form and long legs as she went to find a takeout menu, but she couldn’t stop digging in the dresser for that _damn shirt._

Who did that nurse think she was, calling her? Prying into her business? It shouldn’t matter to her whether Clover visited or not.

It was not her father who stared out the window all hours of the day. It was not her father who couldn't remember his own name. It was not her father, no, who couldn’t remember his _life_. His _family_. Who was cursed to live out his days until he _finally_ couldn’t remember to _breathe_ , and would choke to death in his sleep.

None of them understood. Her father was dying, slow and alone, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She couldn’t even muster the courage to visit. They would never understand the pain of having to see a parent in such a state. So _why_ did they all insist on _pushing her?_

Her frustrations and resentment reached a boiling point. They spilled over, consuming her, causing her to see red.

Ripping the drawer from the furniture, she slung it aside with a shout. The drawer tumbled across the floor and her previously folded clothes scattered along its path.

Clover leaned over the dresser for support, her legs feeling weak from the anxiety coursing through her veins. By the time Moira had darted back into the room, having heard the commotion, hot tears were streaming down her cheeks. Clover hastily tried to brush them away. To regain her composure. 

Moira bent, grabbing her shoulders. “ _Mo stor_ ,” she tried, voice firm. “Tell me what’s upset you.”

She began to bat her hands away. “Just go.” 

Clover felt as though she were being weak, pathetic. Plus, like hell she wanted Moira to see her cry a second time. It had been embarrassing enough in Zurich when she thought she’d gotten her fired.

“ _Darling—”_

Clover’s patience snapped, sharp like an overturned guitar string. “I said _go,_ Moira!” As the woman didn’t move, her temper grew and the tears came faster.

“ _Get out!_ ”

She’d never yelled at Moira before. She hadn’t really _yelled_ at _anyone_ like that— sure, Clover had raised her voice in arguments, but she had always tried to remain civil.

Moira didn’t leave. She didn’t turn and walk away, she didn’t get dressed and walk back across the hall to her own apartment. No, instead she pulled Clover to the edge of the bed.

Clover didn’t have the energy to fight her. She drew her legs up onto the mattress, curling into Moira’s chest as she wept.

Moira didn’t ask again what had broken her. She only held her as she cried, fingers tracing up and down her spine as a comforting gesture. “It’ll be alright.”

She shook her head, unable to get the words out.

It won’t be.  
  


Clover observed the two generic painkillers in her palm longer than necessary. Moira had given them to her along with a glass of water after they’d dressed and settled in the living room.

She tossed them back and downed the water. The post-breakdown headache was setting in both behind her eyes and at the base of her skull. The tension felt like a million rubber bands wrapped around her head.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Circuit peered at the two of them from their charging station. Their tail flicked idly before relaxing. They switched into sleep mode, offering them privacy to talk.

Clover sighed, turning to look out the window. “No.” 

Moira’s fingers pet through her hair. Occasionally, her wicked nails would scratch along her scalp in a soothing way. “Alright.”

Within the hour she was bundled in a blanket, laying against Moira on the couch. She was only half focused on the movie Moira had put on. It was from before the turn of the century, and Clover didn’t make a habit of watching movies filmed before 2030. Any other evening she may have taken genuine interest in the film’s plot, but that evening she couldn’t focus no matter how hard she tried.

Her food was abandoned on the coffee table. Italian— no surprise there. She’d taken one, perhaps two bites of her pasta before merely pushing it around the carton.

After a while, even Circuit joined them on the couch. As they jumped up onto Clover, she grunted from the weight of all the metal settling in her lap. After a few snarky remarks about the movie, mocking the main characters density, they went back to sleep mode to conserve energy.

Moira’s touch kept her grounded, her hand placed on the back of her neck. Her thumb rubbed slowly at her nape. Anyone else holding her in such a way would have caused Clover to feel scrutinized, even claustrophobic. With Moira, however, it was comforting.

“You don’t talk about your family,” Clover voiced her observation during a lull in the film’s pacing. 

Moira’s thumb stopped tracing her baby hairs, but did not move. Picking up the remote with her other hand, she lowered the volume.

“I don’t,” she avowed. “Neither do you. Not often.”

Clover snorted, not exactly _humored_. “Would need a family to talk about.”

Moira looked down at her. “You have your father,” she reminded her gently. It was exactly what she _didn’t_ want to hear.

Clover shook her head, beginning to stand.She was helplessly trapped under the sleeping omnic and didn’t want to startle them. Instead, she sighed and leaned back against Moira once more. 

“Might as well _not_. He’s….you know, I’ve told you. He’s got Alzhimer’s. He...”

The words weren’t coming out the way she intended. The familiar pain of an oncoming tear session tingled in her sinuses. Pursing her lips together, she withheld from crying, steadying her emotions.

“... he’s getting worse,” she confessed. “He, uh… apparently he asked about me today.”

Moira didn’t respond, which wasn’t unusual. Her thumb was tracing her nape again as she waited for her to continue.

Clover sniffled and shook her head. “Distract me,” she requested. “Tell me about you. What, uh… what was it like, growing up? How was Dublin?”

Shifting, Moira laid down against the armrest, leading Clover to lie against her. The movie continued to run in the background, the screen Illuminating then.

“My upbringing was fine, even if my mother was… _stern_.” She laid her hands on Clover’s stomach, locking her fingers together. “Grew up an only child.”

Clover nodded, hand settling over both of Moira’s. “Stern how?”

“She wanted the best for me. I’ve never met my father, I suppose that had something to do with it. They separated before I was born.”

Frowning, Clover squeezed her hands. “Have you ever tried to find him?” Despite the situation with her own family, she couldn’t imagine growing up without both of her parents. Is that also why she had lightly pressed her the few times she’d brought up her own...?

“Mm.” Moira glanced back towards the television. “I thought seriously about it, once, a few years ago. Didn’t get very far before realizing it wouldn’t make a difference. I’m almost forty—If he wanted to meet me, he would have by now.”

Louring at the thought, Clover tilted her head to look at her. A few years…? Late thirties? 

“When were you born?”

Moira didn’t look away from the movie. “2028, why?”

After some quick math, Clover’s eyes widened. She jerked up with a gasp. The action startled Circuit back online, who then scrambled to the floor with an electronic yelp. “You’re _39?_ ”

Moira’s eyebrows raised at the way Clover reacted. “Forty this year. Winter birthday.” She shifted, beginning to sit up. “Is it really that surprising?”

Clover’s face went scarlet. “I thought you were, like, 35…” she responded meekly.

Moira smirked, petting through her hair. “You are _adorable_ , bunny. Does this bother you?”

Clover shook her head. “No, no… we’re both adults. I’m 32, so I mean… Christ, you’re almost _forty_ …”

Grinning, Moira touched her thumb and forefinger to Clover’s chin. “Don’t think too much on it,” she murmured, dragging her in for a kiss. The action was successful in silencing her. 

The omnic in the room scoffed, hopping onto the windowsill. Despite being made of metal he was agile enough to avoid knocking her plants into the floor. “Damn, Haugen. I knew you liked cats, but I never pinned you for the type to go for _cougars_.”

Her face heated up again as she broke the kiss, mortified by their words. “Oh my _god_ , ignore them, that’s not— _you're_ not—”

Moira was attempting to bite down a laugh to no avail. “It’s alright.”


	30. Chapter 30

The first time Gabriel canceled their daily run without reason, Clover didn't think anything out of the ordinary. As Commander, he was a busy man. It was when he _continued_ to cancel that she began to grow skeptical. Even more so when she began to _pass him_ on their morning runs.

Each time she saw him, he seemed more frayed than the last. The bags under his eyes continued to darken. He looked gaunt at times, as though he weren’t eating properly between workouts. _That_ had troubled her. As a friend, she wanted to ask, to check in, to make sure he was _okay_. Yet, as his employee, she knew better.

It was when he didn’t show without warning that she lost her patience. Since reaching Italy, he’d done nothing but push her to run faster and train harder. It was out of character for him to ditch without a word when she was making progress. If he didn’t feel well, she at least deserved a text.

She had checked all of his frequent hiding spots; The dropship hangar, the first floor meeting rooms, the training bay. He favored the break room on the fourth floor over all others because the fridge was always stocked and no one bothered him. Still, his location remained a mystery.

There was one last place he could have been. More often than not she would find him hovering over Moira when she would arrive for her shift.

The lab was locked when she arrived. Digging out her keycard, she swiped it, earning a verified chime as the lock switched to green. The hydraulics hissed as the door slid open.

The sight that greeted her wasn’t the one she expected, and definitely wasn’t the one she wanted. Gabriel was topless, in the midst of hastily dragging his shirt back on.

“The door was locked for a reason, Haugen,” he spit.

“What the hell is going on?” She asked, glancing between them. Moira was cleaning up miscellaneous items around the table, calm as ever. Several vials of iridescent purple serum, some empty, were whisked away. Gabriel was pointedly avoiding eye contact. 

Neither of them answered. She licked her lips, trying to compose herself. “You’re both undeniably queer, so I know you’re not sleeping together.”

Moira looked disgusted by the notion. “Hell would sooner freeze over.”

“Ouch, doctor.”

“So I ask again—” her voice was dangerously level. “What the _hell_ is going on here?”

“You know as well as I do that she’d find out eventually,” Moira glanced up to Gabriel. She waved a hand, as if waiting for him to explain.

“Please, I’d love an explanation.” Clover crossed her arms. “First you cancel in the mornings without reason, and then you just don’t show up? You spend your time _here?_ ”

Gabriel did not wear apprehension well— she realized it was grim if it made the typically jocular man break his facade. “You explain it better than I can,” he sighed to Moira. “Go ahead.”

Moira pinned his arm and swiftly wrapped a tourniquet around it. “His genes have developed a mutation, likely a byproduct of the soldier enhancement program. Whatever cocktail of enhancements they injected into him has led to several virulent growths.”

Clover blinked once, twice, before the words sunk in. “So… short answer; he has cancer?”

He winced as Moira jabbed a needle into him. “Short answer; yes.” He glared at the vial in Moira’s fingers as it began to fill with his blood. Then, his dark eyes flicked up to Clover. “That information doesn’t leave this room, do you understand, Haugen?”

She nodded swiftly. “No, no of course… I’m just confused as to why you’re here and not at an _actual hospital_ with _actual medical doctors_.”

 _Why are you not with your boyfriend?_ A question that would get her sent home, surely, so she kept it to herself.

Gabe scoffed. “You think they’re equipped to handle something this aggressive? Do you know how far this shit has progressed since the beginning of the year?”

“That doesn’t answer why you’re _here._ ”

Moira sighed, pulling the needle. “I told you— Oasis scolded me on my small sample size.” She tossed the contaminated tools and stripped her gloves away.

More pieces of the grand Overwatch/Blackwatch puzzle slipped into place. The exhaustion, the irritation, the random lab visits, the absence of thought for his liver at the bar—they all made sense. “This is the favor, then?”

He slipped from the table, rejecting the bandaid Moira tried to put over the withdrawal site. “How are you going to stand before me and get pissed off over something that’s above your pay grade?”

Clover held her stance, even as he stood over her. She didn’t back down, she didn’t curl in on herself and apologize. “This isn’t about _work._ I’m pissed because we’re _friends,_ Gabe. How long did you think you could get by without someone finding out?”

Gabe tugged his leather jacket on. “This conversation is over,” he snapped, avoiding the question. “Both of you— meeting room, ten minutes. Don’t keep us waiting.”

Moira started to follow Gabriel into the hall. Before her long legs could carry her too far, Clover yanked on the sleeve of her coat. “We’re gonna talk about your involvement in this later,” she hissed.

Frowning, Moira fell back to match pace with her. They were far enough back that Gabriel (hopefully) wouldn’t hear them. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

“I don’t like being kept in the dark.” Clover crossed her arms. “I like to know what’s going on.”

Moira tensed her jaw, fingers disappearing into the pockets of her coat. “Trust me, Clover. Contrary to what you may believe, you do not need to be aware of everything ‘going on’. The world will continue to turn without you fretting over every inconvenience.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” She hissed. Grabbing Moira’s arm, she dipped into an alcove between doors. “He’s _dying_ and you’re running experiments on him?”

 _She’s playing god,_ Jamie had said. Was she…?

She forced the thought away. No, she’d made a valuable breakthrough. As much as it should be shared, something still unsettled Clover.

Moira towered over her. “As is my _job,_ Clover, and might I remind you,— _yours as well._ ” Moira steadied herself on the doorframe, and suddenly Clover felt trapped. “Gabriel came to _me_. I promised him I would help, no questions asked, and in turn he would owe me when the time came.”

“You could have said no,” she whispered. “Moira, it hurt _you_ to do this—” She touched her scarred hand, only to feel it jerked from her grasp. “You don’t think this will hurt him?”

“I am not made of porcelain, and neither is Gabriel. With this his condition will improve _tenfold_.” She began to motion with her hands as she continued, freeing Clover. “The serum targets the growths, rapidly degenerates the excessive cells. We’ve already seen—”

Clover waved her hands to silence her. “I don’t want a science lesson right now! Why didn’t you tell me? Do you not trust me?”

Moira took her hands, lowering them. “I trust you,” she responded gently, despite her thinning patience. “When I said I was not at liberty to share, I meant it, Clover. Gabriel is entitled to his privacy— we all are.”

Frustrated, Clover left the alcove and began speed walking down the hall. It didn’t take much for Moira to catch up with her. “ _Where are you going?_ ”

“Meeting,” she responded dryly. “If it even _concerns me._ ”

They stood in silence in the elevator. The floors ticked by until they’d settled on the first floor. Exiting the car, they could see Gabriel in conversation with a new figure.

Moira greeted him with a handshake. “Lacroix.”

“Dr. O’Deorain; good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

The man looked to Clover, extending the same hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet. Gérard Lacroix— a pleasure, _mademoiselle._ ”

Clover shook his hand. His hold was firm, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that her own was as well. “Nice to meet you, Lacroix. I’m Clover Haugen. I—”

“—work in the labs with Dr. O’Deorain,” He nodded, a thin smile playing on his lips. “As I’ve heard.”

_From who?_

Gabriel gestured to Gérard. Despite their argument in the lab, he seemed normal once again. “Allow me to catch you up. Gérard here is pretty high up on the Overwatch ladder. He spearheads our efforts against our biggest baddies.”

“Talon, as of late” he explained. “An emerging force, but one that is not to be trifled with.”

“Which is exactly why you’re gonna choose Blackwatch to bother them.”

The hesitation in his expression was plain as day. “Commander Reyes, I understand Blackwatch has shown exemplary skill in the past. However, we do not know who or _what_ we’re dealing with quite yet—”

“Again, _exactly_ why you’re gonna send us in.”

Gérard sighed. “I am considering all options, Commander.” As Gabe opened the door for him, he nodded in thanks. The group filed in. Jesse and Genji were already seated around the table. Their hushed conversation was broken as the rest of the group sat.

Clover seated herself beside Jesse. Moira settled beside her, hooking one leg over the other.

Lacroix indicated towards the screen. “As you know, Commander, we suspect several individuals of involvement, — Vialli, Ogundimu, to name a few. They typically cover their tracks well; however, we’ve gathered a lead that puts Vialli in Prague this evening.”

Jesse squinted at the screen. “That scrawny fella? He’s supposed to be this big old mob boss?”

“Don’t let his looks deceive you, McCree.” The images on the screen changed— news articles, silent videos, photographs. He lived an expensive lifestyle. “We believe Vialli is involved with the finances of Talon.”

“You don’t need to look dangerous when you can pay someone else to do your work,” Clover guessed. “You just need to look... average.”

Gérard nodded. “We believe he’s tied to several murders. Yet, we can not pin him down. There’s simply no concrete evidence.”

The screen swapped again. “A new exhibit is opening at the National Museum, and Vialli is listed as a patron.”

Jesse huffed. “Great, we’ll get bored to death with history.”

“A touch of education would do you well, Jesse,” Moira quipped.

”At least I have what we Americans like to call _street smarts,_ Doctor. A degree can’t solve everything.”

Before they could dissolve into an argument, Gérard continued. “Should he arrive, your team will be expected to keep an eye on him, commander. See who he talks to, if he has any known associates. An event as large as this… he should have at least _one_.”

Gabriel crossed his arms. “So you're agreeing Blackwatch is the best mode of action? For a glorified steak out?”

A thin smile stretched across his lips. “Don’t make me change my mind, Reyes. There’s a reason I came to you. You handle things quietly.”

“Alright, fine.” He held his hands up defensively. Turning to the group, he nodded to the door. “Get dressed— we’ll meet in the hangar in twenty.”  
  


Arms folded, she watched Genji and Jesse from her place on the tarmac. The two were playing a card game, from what she could see, while waiting on the other half of the strike team.

Clover looked up to Gabe as he walked by. “And what am I expected to do?”

Gabriel patted her on the head before starting to board the dropship. “Hold the fort.”

“This is probably the _safest_ mission I could sit in on. You can’t honestly punish for being _worried—_ ”

Gabriel turned on his heel, glaring down at her from the top of the ramp. “Your presumption is exactly why you’re staying. It’s not a _punishment—_ accept that you’re not ready, Haugen.” His tone left no room for argument. 

“You worry out in the field, you hesitate? Someone’s going to put a bullet between your eyes. See how much you worry then.”

He waved a hand over his shoulder as he continued onto the ship. “Go work upstairs, find something to keep your hands busy. I can’t have the team babysitting you all afternoon while you throw a tantrum.”

“You said it’s a glorified steak out!” She spat as he disappeared into the ship.

“Yes, and it can take a turn for the worse if we’re not careful.”

 _Damn her light gait,_ Clover mentally swore. More than once Moira managed to sneak up behind her. Wheeling around, she opened her mouth, ready to argue with her as well, but found the words stuck. Moira raised her eyebrows as she stopped in front of her.

After she managed to pick her jaw off the floor seeing her in her field gear, she tensed it. “That implies I wouldn’t be.”

Moira touched a gloved hand to her cheek. Clover tensed as she felt the metal of her altered healing devices. The numbing sensation is one she hadn’t been able to shake from her memories.

“I have to side with Gabriel on this. You would be a liability.”

Clover glanced away, lips pursed in frustration. “So much for trusting me, then.”

A lock of hair was tucked behind her ear. “I believe in you, darling, but I can’t bear to see you put in harm's way. You’re not ready.”

“How do you think I feel?” She frowned up at her. “Every time you get on that damn ship, there’s going to be the possibility you don’t come back.”

Moira frowned. Clover felt as though she wanted to say more, but whatever it was died on the top of her tongue as Gabriel yelled for her to get a move on.

Standing on her toes, Clover sighed heavily as she adjusted her beret. “Just… promise me that you’ll be safe.” Forcing down her anxiety, she flashed her a smile. “I need to see you dressed like this at least one more time.”

An affectionate smirk tugged on her lips. Her thumb brushed across her chin, drawing her in. “Of course, _coinín._ We should be back by this time tomorrow.”

Moira placed a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. At the last moment, Clover caught her lips in a proper kiss. They only had a moment before Moira was slipping out of her fingers, boarding the ship. Jesse gave her a smug look and received a glower in return.

Long after the door had closed, and the dropship thundered out of the bay, she stared into the empty space.

Her only friends had just left, she realized. Not only that, but the only people who provided her with _work_ had left. Without Moira, there wasn’t much to be done in the lab. Without Gabriel, Genji or Jesse, she was stuck working out on her own.

“What the hell do I do now?” Her echo inquired back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys haven’t seen it yet, I posted a (spoiler filled) fic of these two set in the future :’) just riding the angst train these days


	31. Chapter 31

Being by herself included being left alone with her thoughts, and Clover couldn’t have that.

Time alone only ever sent her thoughts into a spiral. The whole day she’d worried about the team— especially Moira, for obvious reasons. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her to hold her own— far from it— it was that she held remorse for their hallway argument.

She’d scrubbed the lab—she wasn’t satisfied until she could see her reflection in the metal trays and the acrid burn of bleach was a permanent scar on her senses. Their mantis had been fed, the small terrarium cleaned. When she had nothing else to do at the lab she headed home.

Quicker than she anticipated, she caught up on chores. The kitchen was spotless, her plants had been pruned and appropriately watered, and she’d even found time to polish Circuit between laundry cycles. Still, her fingers twitched at the prospect of having nothing to do.

So, she dove headfirst into the only thing she knew would serve as a viable distraction. It had taken at least an hour of digging in overstuffed boxes to find her old dissertation notes.

Working at home proved useless. It wasn’t the right environment for her to work. At least with Blackwatch her job wasn’t a train ride away— she could walk to work in less than ten minutes. 

Had she not heard the hiss of the hydraulic door, Moira would have scared the hell out of her. “How was the mission?” She’d settled on the floor, her back against one of the desks.

It seemed she managed to get the upper hand for once as Moira tensed in her peripheral. 

“Have you been up all night?”

Clover’s gaze flicked over the papers spread across the floor. They were covered in blue and red ink— notations, a testament to the last several hours of her work. More than one page had a splash of coffee decorating one of the corners.

“... if I say yes will you be mad?”

“Why do you assume I’ll be irate?” Moira hovered over her. “You should be asleep; It’s almost daylight, Clover.”

The clock proved she was right. Had there been a window, she would have noticed the first rays of dawn painting the sky periwinkle. Shaking her head, she looked back to the work laid out before her. 

“Can’t sleep,” she murmured, dragging pages close before abandoning them again. “Something has been bothering me.”

“Something is _always_ bothering you,” Moira reminded. She drew Clover’s hair back.

“This is different.” Clover pushed her glasses up in order to rub her strained eyes. “I’m gonna find it— I was an idiot the first time around and started too late. There was so much I feel I _missed_... there’s more to be done.”

She finally found the page she was looking for. She squinted at the text, glasses still on her head. “It works on delirium from atropine poisoning… I _know_ it’s had pros and cons in prior studies, but they are incredibly outdated no one seems interested in looking into it any further. There's got to be something that someone hasn't tried. Maybe a new strain—?”

A hand at her shoulder quieted her. Moira leaned in, drawing the paper from her grasp, interrupting her reverie. “It will still be here this afternoon,” she murmured against her temple. “Look at it later with a clear mind.”

She tilted her head back, weariness showing. “I wouldn’t be able to touch this until I have funding, anyway.” She sighed and tossed the papers back onto one of the folders. “I don’t think Gabe would be too happy signing off on a giant order of chemicals. _Above my pay grade,_ right?”

Clover stood, wincing at the protest her back and knees gave. As much good as the training was doing for her body, it still didn’t take well to sitting on the floor for— she glanced at the clock again— nearly six hours.

She draped her arms around Moira’s neck. She’d changed out of her Blackwatch gear upon their return and back into slacks and a button down. Her hair was damp, and Clover deduced she’d caught a shower in the locker room.

“You didn’t answer me,” she murmured, sleepy. “Find anything interesting?”

Moira thumbed at an exposed strip of flesh where her shirt had ridden up. “Mm… it went fine, all things considered. We gathered valuable intel; I believe Gabriel is meeting with Lacroix as we speak.”

Clover tilted her head. “Are you going to tell me what you learned?”

“You’ll hear it from Gabriel later.” Moira stole her glasses from the top of her head, returning them to their proper position on her nose. “You’ll be alright for a short while while they work on an official file. For now, you should attempt to get some sleep on the couch— You know he’s going to expect you up and ready here within the hour. I believe he said something about making you run an extra mile for the way you talked to him yesterday.”

Clover scoffed. “If I go to sleep, I’m not moving and you know it. Might as well stay up.”

She swayed for a moment, her arms still around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she finally apologized. “For… well, yesterday now. I was worried you’d still be mad with me.”

Hands went to her waist to steady her as they swayed. “I wasn’t mad,” Moira assured her. “I’m quick to aggravate, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but I wasn’t angry with you.”

Clover settled her ear against Moira’s shoulder. “Still; I thought about it, and you’re both right. It wasn’t any of my business. Pushing it was wrong, and I apologize.” She forced a strained smile. “For someone who told you we need a ‘shred of professionalism’ at work, I’m terrible at separating my emotions from my job, it seems.”

Moira rested her chin on the top of her head. “A keen observation, Dr. Haugen.”

Clover snorted at the teasing. “Yeah, yeah… want another one?”

“Mm?”

Tilting her head up, she searched Moira’s eyes. “You’re a liar.”

Moira abruptly stopped. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You said you don’t dance,” Clover clarified, leaning against her shoulder again. Unbothered. “This is dancing. Ergo- you’re a liar.”

The tension she’d been holding in her shoulders released. “Ah— Yes, well… This hardly counts,” Moira muttered, drawing her closer as they began to sway again. “There is no music.”

“Does there have to be?”

It was easier the second time for Moira to convince Clover to lie down. Extensive nails were carding through mousy brown hair, occasionally scratching her scalp as she napped. Moira seemed as though she could have fallen asleep herself, but was more interested in the data pad in her free hand.

The door opened, right on time.

“Don’t,” Moira commanded quietly as Gabriel approached. Clover didn’t stir. “I have an inkling she has been up for over twenty-four hours.”

Gabe crossed his arms. “So have you,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” she glanced up at him. “but I’m not the one you intend to discipline with physical activity. She’ll fall out if you take her in this state.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

“Yes, well…” Moira shook her head. As if to prove her point, she looked down at the woman in her lap, and spoke in a slightly louder than normal voice. “ _Clover.”_

When she didn’t budge, Moira returned to her work. “I theorize she could sleep through a natural disaster. She’s not going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

He shook his head. “Fine. Tomorrow, then.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and started to leave.

“She apologized to me, you know.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Moira turned the screen of the tablet off, setting it aside. “If I know her the way I think I do, I believe she intends on apologizing to _you_ as well.”

He made it as far as the door before she called after him. “ _Gabriel_. A moment.”

Stopping in the doorframe, he glancing over his shoulder. 

Moira withdrew her fingers from Clover’s hair. The woman did budge then, twisting to press her face against Moira’s hip. Once she settled again, Moira hesitated to rest a hand on her head once more.

“I… wish to speak with you later.” Her eyes briefly dipped to the woman in her lap before focusing on him again. “In private.”

He turned to properly observe her. It was a rare event for her to request as much. “As your boss or your friend?”

“Friend, if you’re available.”

There was an extended period of silence. Then, his shoulders slumped, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. “Fine. Let me know when you want to get together; as always, I’ll be around.”

On his way out, he added, “I hope you all know I’m gonna to start charging for these damn therapy sessions one day.”


	32. Chapter 32

Clover was alone in the lab, working with a set of cell slides when the door opened behind her.

“Hey— I was thinking we could stay in.” She squinted, adjusting the knobs on a microscope in an attempt to clarify the image. “Maybe I could stay at your place tonight, if that’s alright. If you stay at mine Circuit is just gonna bother us again.”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t think my partner would like that very much.”

Clover looked up from the side she’d been examining to find Gabriel lingering in the doorway. Her face turned red and she buried herself in the microscope. “My bad— Moira’s downstairs, if you're looking for her.”

“Actually, I’m here for _you.”_ Me motioned for her to follow. “C’mon— I want to show you something.”

She frowned, glancing back at the work in front of her. Comparisons had to be logged before the end of her shift, and samples still had to be put away. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“And I’m kind of your _boss_.”

Sighing, she pulled a stack of post-it’s towards her. “Fine, give me a second.” She hastily scribbled down a quick note that Gabriel had kidnapped her and left it on the computer.

Gabe shook his head as she walked towards him. “You and O’Deorain both— what makes you science geeks so arrogant?” he muttered.

“It probably has something to do with twelve years of secondary education.” She shrugged. “Bragging rights come free with the PhD.”

Gabriel scoffed. “ _Expensive_ nerds, got it.”

“Says the super soldier. I bet you played _football_ in highschool. It would account for your big, strong ego.”

Gabe looked down at her, smirking. “Me? Nah, hated sports. Jack is the quarterback type. I caused more trouble than anything.” He looked up as they reached the elevators. He pressed the button for the lower floors. “Surprised the army even recruited me with my record.”

He led her down to the armory. She’d seen it, once, in passing, when they had arrived in Rome. It had been made clear that it was _strictly_ off limits. She had tried swiping her badge one day, just to humor herself, and found she didn’t have access.

The wall was lined with different weapons. Mostly guns, which set her teeth on edge, but there were miscellaneous others mixed in as well. They were all Blackwatch branded. She assumed that personal items, like Genji’s sword or McCree’s revolver, were kept with them.

In the corner, there was a display hosting familiar armor. Clover trailed her fingers over the modified cryopack, set on a display apart from the other armaments.

Reyes searched the wall, looking for something specific. “I’ve got a new toy for you to try out,” he explained. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled the weapon from the rack.

It was hardly impressive— a staff with a plain grip. When he pressed it into her hands, she found a pleasant weight to it. Around the top was an opening, and inside she found mechanical components.

“A metal stick,” she observed. “ _Thanks_.”

“Hold on, it gets fancier.” He indicated towards the button on the handle. “Press that.”

She pressed the button, and a blade flickered to life at the top of the staff— _polearm,_ she mentally corrected.

“Careful; it’s sharp as hell and burns like it too.”

Clover examined it, interested. It seemed to work off of high grade energy. “... is there a reason you’re showing me this?”

Gabe leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You’ve put in hard work these last two months. In the range, your aim isn’t the best— that’s fine. You have shit eyesight so I expected as much.”

She glared at him. An unfortunate truth, but still offensive.

Continuing on, he motioned to the polearm. “With Genji, though? You’re pretty handy when he has you work with a training staff. Getting better at defending yourself each time I see you.” He extended his hand for the weapon.

Once it was handed over, he pressed a second button towards the top. The light blade was ejected from the top in the form of a knife. “Looking at you, I can tell you’re not a fighter— You’d go down faster than the Titanic if someone hit you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gabe.”

“It’s the truth.” The blade flickered as he shut it off, offering her the hilt. “Your goal should never be to go searching for a fight. It should be to live to see tomorrow, by any means necessary.” He shook his head. “I want to know there’s gonna be something in your hands to defend yourself if the need arises.”

After a moment of fiddling, the blade powered up again in her palm. She could feel the heat radiating outwards, but the hilt remained a comfortable temperature.

She couldn’t help herself. She touched the tip of her index finger to the knife and inhaled sharply as it burnt her. “ _Ow.”_

“What hell did I just tell you?”

Powering it down, she clicked the base back into place at the top. “Does this mean you’re gonna start letting me go on missions?” She raised her eyebrows, sucking on the burn.

A wry smile crossed his lips. She hadn’t seen him smile in weeks, it felt like, and the sight improved her mood. “Baby steps, Haugen. I want to see you use it first.”

“Right now?”

“No, maybe tomorrow. I sent Genji and McCree on an errand, and knowing them? Jesse’s probably got Genji goofing off somewhere.”

Taking the polearm from her, he returned it to it’s home. “You’re gonna have to be careful with the life span on it. It’s still a bit experimental, but the sharp part should stay charged as long as it’s in the base.”

Clover settled onto a bench, watching as it clicked into place. “How long is the battery life?”

“As a big stick— pretty damn long. If you take the knife, though? I give it an hour. The thing runs pretty hard.”

Gabriel settled beside her, throwing his legs out in front of him. He leaned back against the wall, and they fell into silence.

Crossing the room, she studied Moira’s battle suit. It was intricate, and she wondered how she’d learned to get it on, _alone,_ in under twenty minutes.

She noted that the metal breastplate (as well as _most_ of the hard surfaces) was covered in thin scratches and dents. Each one with their own little story. 

Clover turned to watch Gabriel. He had been watching her, she realized, as she caught his eyes.

They flicked away, back to the wall of weapons. “I’m sorry, you know. For the other day.”

Gabe didn't respond. He shifted, leaning back and throwing his arms behind his head. 

When he remained silent, she continued. “It wasn’t my place to get mad— this has to be harder on you than it is on me, and I recognize that.”

“Your heart was in the right place,” He sighed, eyes falling closed. “Can’t blame you for that.”

She glanced at him, eyebrows creasing. “Is it helping, at least…?”

He shrugged. “To a degree.” His eyes opened again as he stared straight ahead. “Mostly just tired.”

“Have you told Jack?”

He looked over at her, jaw set. The way he studied her, though, she had a feeling he wasn’t irritated so much with the question as he was the silent answer. She just nodded again, dropping it.

“Last question and I’ll stop hounding you.” 

He scoffed at the idea that she’d stop. The question had been eating at her, though, lingering in the back of her thoughts.

Clover glanced to where her girlfriend’s armor was put away. “Have you noticed any... _changes?_ ”

He looked at his hands, curling his fingers slowly. After a moment, his whole form began to thin and darken, his form threatening to dissipate. She didn’t panic, because she’d seen it before, on her own partner.

“Yeah,” he sighed, unclenching his fists. “Something like that.”

  
  


By the time she returned to the lab, Moira had as well. Clover crossed the lab to where she was standing.

“Dinner at my place or yours?” She inquired, fingertips trailing along Moira’s lower back. She was graced with a hint of smoke and crisp menthol that lingered around her.

The woman didn’t look away from the test tube she was filling. “There’s hardly a difference.”

“One has an annoying cat.”

Moira capped the vial and shook it vigorously, mixing the fluids. “Circuit has an aberrant personality, even if they are a touch crass.” She dumped the contents into a clean tube once she was satisfied with the emulsion _._ “I do not mind their presence.”

“Yes, and I love them dearly.” Clover took the new vial, capped it, and slapped a sticker on it. “That doesn’t mean I appreciate them _yowling_ outside my bedroom door when you’re over. You think an organic cat is bad? It’s even worse when they can form words.”

Moira tilted her chin up with one of her knuckles. “If you’d like to spend the night in my bed, Clover, all you have to do is ask.”

“Why should I have to ask?” She challenged.

“Because there is, and will always be, an unspoken _yes_ . My door is always open for you. However, I’d prefer the choice to be _yours_.” Moira started gathering other samples from around the table. “If I had things my way, you’d be there every night.”

The answer made Clover’s face hot. Judging by the smug expression Moira made, it was the intended effect.

“If we did things _your way,_ we’d go out to a nice dinner and then end up between the sheets.” A fact— one that she’d been caught in the middle of time and time again. One that she quickly found she _didn’t_ _mind_.

“My way, though? Pancakes for dinner and Jurassic Park afterwards.”

Moira side-eyed her, skeptical. “I hate that movie.”

“I never said we’d enjoy it.” Clover tried to withhold her own devious smirk, swindling the samples. “We won’t even make it to the shoddy genetics monologue before you grow bored and pin me to the couch.”

Moira’s frame jumped slightly with the short, sharp laugh she gave. “As I said— you only need to _ask_ if you’re interested in staying over.” Seeing the flush spread across her face made things even.

When she settled, she turned to look down at Clover properly. The other stalled upon seeing the soft amusement behind blue and red irises. “... pancakes for dinner?”

“And bacon, if you have any.” She hastily scribbled the date onto the vials. Clover was careful to place them firmly in an awaiting rack before lowering the set into liquid nitrogen. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Pancakes? For _dinner?_ ” She repeated slowly, as though the notion were blasphemous.

“Leave me alone,” Clover pouted, twisting the lid until it snapped into place, sealing the canister. “It’s the only thing I don’t burn. Besides— it’s… a pretty common occurrence back home. Do you not like them?”

Moira leaned her lower back against the counter. “I do— just not for _dinner,_ no. The thought of sweets for an _entire meal_ is a bit nauseating if I must be honest.”

“That’s your problem.” Clover tapped her nose once with her pen. The way she flinched back amused her, as though the shorter woman posed any considerable threat. “They’re not sweet— at least not the ones I planned on making.”

Looping an arm around her waist, Moira drew her closer. Clover’s hands slipped between her lab coat and her button down. They traced her ribs through the material, feeling the way they curved around her torso.

“Alright, you can make dinner— on one condition, bunny.”

It was her turn to arch an eyebrow. “That condition being…?”

Moira hooked a finger around Clover’s belt, tugging her forward. Lazily, her lips ghosted the column of her neck. She took her time, moving up until they settled near her ear.

“Allow me to take you shopping this weekend. Anything you’d like.”

Clover’s face was flushed. Moira was a fast learner, and had deduced that her charm made it difficult for the brunette to decline. “I don’t like it when you spend a ton of money on me...”

Moira nipped her jaw. “You’re my girlfriend, darling. Is it a crime to want to spoil you? Besides—” as if to prove a point, she tugged on her jeans again. “Just yesterday you were making a fuss about how ill fitting your clothes have become.”

She had a point. Her shirts were fine, she didn’t mind a loose top, but she was finding her pants harder to keep on— and not just because Moira liked to drag her out of them. Curse exercise, and curse clothes for being so expensive.

Her lips pursed into another pout. While mulling it over, she let the slick material of her tie cascade through her fingers. “Will you be purchasing anything for yourself?”

“I had intended to pick up a new suit from the tailor, yes.”

Clover stilled in her movements. _Ah._ That was… quite the sight to imagine. She couldn’t help but to _laugh_ at how flustered the idea made her. “Why do you need another? You already have, like… _four._ ”

Moira chuckled against her throat. As she shifted, a Clover could feel her nose bump against her jaw. “Yes, but not one in navy.” Moira drew her hair back to reveal more of her neck. “I’d like to look personable when I treat you to dinner after.”

She drew the edge of her coat down, and _lord—_ her eyes slipped closed as she began to leave a mark. “ _Personable…_ yeah, that’s one way to put it…”

Teeth slid against her skin as Moira grinned. “How would _you_ describe me, then?”

Clover pushed her fingers into wiry ginger hair. “Would have to see you in it first… my guess is ‘handsome as _sin_ ’.”

The response evidently pleased her. Nimble fingers found purchase under her top, nails scraping against the band of her bra.

Using the last of her crumbling willpower, she pulled back. “ _Not here.”_

Acceding, her hands returned to Clover’s hips. The words didn’t stop Moira from drawing her close once again, her lips settling near her ear. “Alright. We can do things _your way_ this evening.”

Clover beamed.

“Only—” Those damned lips brushed the shell of her ear. “—if we put the film on _first_ . You can make dinner _after_ I find something far more entertaining for us to focus our attention upon.”

Clover grinned, biting her lip. “I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are a bit slower these days, but I hope you guys are still enjoying them!!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those last few chapters were p heavy... hopefully these next few give you guys the warm and fuzzies, because I got them writing them

Dinner was started later than anticipated, to neither one of their surprise.

The movie had been forgotten immediately. It had long since ended, and the streaming service had returned to the home screen. Neither of them had been bothered to change it.

Moira had disappeared into her bedroom. Clover tried not to fall into the coffee table as she redressed. She decided attempting to drag her pants back on when her knees were already weak was a bad idea, so she conceded to her underwear and faded band shirt. Not that the other occupant would mind.

She was starting on the bacon when Moira returned. Clover’s gaze lingered as she strode through the kitchen, herself only in plaid boxers and her own t-shirt. 

Clover didn’t recognize the character on the front, or understand what ‘get in the robot Shinji’ meant contextually, as she found she couldn’t keep up with the animes Moira spent her free time watching. She did know, however, that seeing her invested in something mundane and seeing her dressed casually aways warmed her heart.

Moira wasn’t all ice and edges, not at all as she’d first thought. No, there were special, softer parts of Moira tucked away that no one else saw. They didn’t _deserve_ to see her in such a way.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use metal on my Teflon.” She uttered behind her, voice low. She could feel Moira’s warmth as she pressed against her back. After briefly digging through a drawer, Moira replaced the normal tongs with a silicone-tipped pair. Clover snapped them at her.

“I wasn’t going to scratch it.”

“You absolutely would have.” Moira squeezed her hip affectionately before moving on. She drew a basket of produce closer, hunting through it. She set a few potatoes aside before retrieving the cutting board and a knife. “Hash?”

“Only if you feel up to making it.” She flipped the bacon, scowling as the grease popped at her.

Moira shrugged, turning towards the sink. “If we’re having _breakfast_ for _dinner_ , we might as well do it _properly._ ” Once she deemed the vegetables clean enough, she returned to the cutting board and set to work on dicing them.

They settled into their tasks. The bacon was left to crisp (Moira liked it bordering on _burnt_ , she’d learned) while she began to compile the ingredients for pancakes. Baking was a science— a phrase she’d heard _many_ times over her life. It didn’t stop her from eyeballing the components, though. Some things didn’t need _exact_ measurements.

Clover watched her as she whisked the wet and dry ingredients together. She watched Moira with keen interest. The woman wasn’t looking at her, instead focused on the cutting board in front of her. She was moving quickly through the potatoes and was finishing up the last one.

“Earlier, in the lab,” Clover started, “you got excited when I called you handsome.”

In real time she watched as the tips of her ears pinkened. “ _Yes._ About that— I apologize. You’ve mentioned not mixing work and play.”

Clover shook her head, setting the bowl aside when she finished. Potatoes too way too long to cook, and it wouldn’t do any good to start the pancakes too early. “No, no, that’s not it at all.”

No, Moira’s brazenness in the lab could be a topic for another evening. 

“Do you like it?” she ventured. “... being called handsome, I mean.”

Moira glanced at her, eyebrows creasing together. Her hands stilled halfway through a cut. “Would that bother you?”

“Of course not,” Clover promised. “Why would it?”

“It’s not typically a word people use to describe women.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She looked back down at the cutting board. Adjusting her grip on the knife's handle, she resumed her task, moving slower. Thinking.

“I know I’m not overly feminine, Clover,” She picked her words carefully. “I find I enjoy wearing suits, and—“ she gestured to herself, to her current outfit, “— _boxers_. Traditionally masculine attire.”

Usually it was Moira who preferred to stay quiet, to let others open up first. Clover took a page from her book and waited to see if she’d continue.

She cleared her throat and diced faster when Clover didn’t pry. “I’m very much a woman. I _do enjoy_ many traditionally feminine things, I assure you.”

Moira set the blade down as she finished, and Clover noticed how her hands trembled. 

“Hey,” she whispered. She set the bowl aside, instead opting to wrap her arms around Moira’s middle. “You don’t have to justify who you are to me. _Ever.”_

Reaching up, she gently tilted her head towards her. “You’re perfect the way you are. Loafers or heels, suit or dress. I don’t care.” Clover pulled her down to place a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. “Okay?”

“I’m not what others expect, and I never have been,” Moira whispered, a sigh following the words. “I’m comfortable in who I am. It’s taken me a long time to get to such a place, but dare I say it— I’m _happy.”_

Clover smiled, the warmth reaching her eyes. She leaned back to look at her fully. “That’s all I can ask for. You deserve to be happy as you are, Moira. We all do.” She brushed a stray strand of ginger hair back. 

“Now— I ask again. Did you like it?”

Moira exhaled, nodding. “I did.”

“Good.” Clover grinned. She slipped a thigh between both of Moira’s, drawing the woman in, pressing against her. “Because you _are_ handsome.”

Moira’s fingers tightened on her hips. “Careful, bunny,” she murmured. “If you keep saying it like _that_ , we’ll never leave my bed again.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Moira chuckled against her skin. “We’d never get anything done.”

Clover smirked. She glanced at the stove, her thoughts wandering, thinking of _them._

Officially it had only been… what? Two and a half months since Oasis.

Clover was amazed at how naturally she had settled into life alongside Moira. Looking back, she wasn’t sure how she got on without the other. Scarlet and cerulean irises framed by sunlit copper hair being the first thing she saw in the morning was the closest thing to a holy experience she’d ever get.

Things felt _different_ with Moira. They came easier, she felt… _seen._ Not just because Moira had a keen eye and a gaze that felt as though it were peeling you apart, revealing every imperfection, some of which her subjects may not have known were there. 

It had been awhile since she’d dated last; early graduate school at least. Had any of her previous girlfriends tried to change her job without asking, it would have been a catastrophe. Yet, when Moira made moves, she found herself _wanting_ to follow.

Part of it, she assumed, could be contributed to growing up. She was no longer twenty-something and being dragged to the pub every weekend. She didn’t want to face hangovers after a night of forced club hopping, and she didn’t want more lackluster relationships. She found, with increasing frequency, that staying in with someone who made her happy was what she wanted.

She didn’t find Moira terrifying, not anymore. Not like the others. At first, only because she was _intimidating,_ had she considered the prospect. 

No, standing in her kitchen, making breakfast at nearly midnight, she didn’t find Moira dangerous. 

Perhaps she _should,_ perhaps she should stop and listen to the little voices in the back of her mind that whispered ‘ _danger’_ when she became too invested in her work.

How could she see someone who explained, with bright and eager eyes, the plot of a five hundred episode anime about a fox kid as anything else but perfect?

She traced the hairs at the base of Moira’s neck as she thought. When she fell back to the present, her eyes widened as she remembered the bacon was at risk of burning.

Yelping as the grease popped, Clover used Moira as a shield. The taller woman scoffed as she stole the tongs, dealing with the food. “You truly _cannot_ pay attention around me, it seems.”

After another half hour, they’d finished preparing dinner together. Moira had taken care of the dishes as well, and Clover was silently thankful. Any other chore she would have taken care of, as she despised doing the dishes.

They had just settled at the table with their food when they were interrupted. Both of their heads swiveled as scratching came from the window in the living room. They were on the third floor, and there _definitely_ shouldn’t be a visitor— there wasn’t a fire escape, as the building was historical

“ _Clo-ver,”_ a familiar, annoying voice wailed. “I know you’re in there!” A pause. “Or Moira! Whoever’s not busy between the other’s—”

“For the love of Saint Peter,” Moira exhaled, pushing away from the table. “It appears they’ve learned to climb.”

Clover put her head in her hands. Moira opened the window, granting Circuit access to the apartment. The omnic hopped to the floor, optics glowing brighter as they took in the decor.

“Minimalist! Where do you hide all your stuff?”

“ _Circuit_ ,” Clover glared.

“An honest question. I know where you keep all of _your_ goodies.” They followed at Moira’s heel, gazing up at her. “Has she shown you what’s in her bedside table? Or perhaps what’s taped—”

Clover tensed.

The flash drive she’d downloaded Moira’s notes onto was taped above the inside of her closet door frame. She’d held onto it for safe keeping. Despite the move, Clover had never mentioned it, as she’d learned Moira had her _own_ backup drive. There was no point in keeping it but she couldn’t let go. _Just in case,_ she had told herself.

_Just in case… what?_

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Moira avoided the question, and Clover relaxed. Her panic had been brief enough Moira hadn’t noticed. She returned to her seat at the table, only to grunt as the omnic hopped into her lap before continuing up onto the table.

“I know you're programmed like a cat, but do you _have_ to get on her furniture?” Clover sighed as they settled in the middle of the table.

Idly, Circuit flicked their tail. Clover held it down when it threatened to slide into her food. “What can I say? I get _bored_ when you don’t come home.” The omnic stretched out before laying flat. “And _yes._ I do.”

Moira glanced up to her. “Perhaps you should consider closing the window when you’re not home.”

Clover shook her head, petting Circuit as they emit a grinding noise. “No— I don’t mind them going out. I wouldn’t want to be stuck inside all day either.”

“ _Thank you_ .” Circuit nuzzled into her hand. “It's just the _worst._ Much more entertaining bothering you two. Someone has to harass the pigeons.”

Clover sighed. She started to stand, moving to pick them up. “Give me five minutes to take them home.”

“No!” they loudly protest.

Moira shook her head, motioning for her to sit once nore. “Since they’ve already learned how to come to my window…” she looked to the omnic. “You’re welcome any time, Circuit, as long as I’m here.”

Clover released them to the floor. They didn’t try to get on the table again, instead emitting a pleased hum as they wove between Moira’s feet. “I knew I liked you, gingersnap.”

Moira looked disgusted with the nickname, and Clover had to cover her mouth to hide her laugh.

“ _Gingersnap,_ ” she echoed. Moira glanced up to her, expression softening. It seemed she didn’t mind it quite as much coming from the other doctor. “All the nicknames you have for me, and I don’t have one for you.”

“You can call me what you’d like, darling, but please— keep confections out of it.“

“What, you don’t want to be my cookie?”

From what sounded like the bedroom, she could heart Circuit laugh. Moira sighed and rubbed at her temple. “Again— I will accept _anything_ else. I’ve experienced enough of ginger jokes to last me ten lives over.”

Clover laid her hand on the table. Moira glanced down, moving the hand from her forehead to hold it.

Adoration danced in her hazel eyes. “ _Mijn schatje,_ ” she murmured, deciding on her own term of endearment.

Moira tilted her head, and Clover understood the unspoken question. She squeezed her hand. “I believe it’s the same as when you call me ‘ _mo stór’._ ” 

Oh, she absolutely _butchered_ that pronunciation. She smiled sheepishly at the way Moira was biting back a laugh. She adored seeing her smile. “You say it a lot better than I do.”

“Well… It’s adorable that you tried. You’ll get it,” Moira brought her hand up, placing a chaste kiss at her knuckles. “... _mijn schatje._ ”

Clover grinned as her pronunciation was equally as bad. “We’ll get there,” she promised.


	34. Chapter 34

The weekend approached sooner than Clover liked. She remained true to her word, though, and allowed Moira to take her shopping. Just one or two things, she told herself. It wasn’t her money.

They were in Moira’s car. It was a refreshing reprieve from the public transportation she’d grown used to.

Without looking, Moira shifted the engine into automatic. Now free, she offered her hand to Clover, eyes still on the road. Her heart fluttered as she looped their fingers together. Moira’s were cold, as she could only offer her right hand, but she had never minded the sensation.

Not like she could do anything about it.

“How’s your pain?” She tilted the limb, examining her lavender skin. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to hide it from Clover. Oftentimes she’d find her rubbing at the wrist while going over data sheets, or stretching her fingers before and after performing a task. Clover had noted that she also cracked her knuckles on her damaged hand more frequently.

Moira glanced at her in her peripheral. She flexed her fingers, pondering the question while focusing on the road. “Some days are better. Some days are worse.”

“Do you take anything for it?”

“Glenlivet seems to help, at least for a while.”

Clover sighed, tracing across her cold skin. “You’re going to destroy your liver if you take up day drinking.”

She snickered at that, and Clover looked at her quizzically. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one that had a touch too much on our first date.”

Her face grew hot, mostly at the implication that the gallery  _ had  _ been a date. “I was nervous! Leave me be!”

Moira glanced over again, mischief in her eyes. “When are you not, bunny?”

At the comment, the corners of her mouth twitched down. She looked down to Moira’s hand, tracing the lines in her palm slower. “I can’t help it. I have this feeling constantly that… something  _ dreadful _ is going to happen.”

Every time Moira looked  _ too  _ ambitious regarding progress (good and bad), every time her irritation bubbled up again, every time her mood so much as ticked down a notch Clover  _ worried _ . She shifted like maritime winds, and if Clover was going to be honest with herself? It was nerve-wracking. She never knew if she’d say the wrong thing and have her turn around and walk away again.

She wasn’t afraid of  _ her _ , far from it. She’d realized as much standing over a stove of nearly-burnt bacon. No, she was scared of ruining their peace with her own incompetence.

She didn't want to be alone. She’d come to depend on Moira’s presence. It grounded her—  _ she  _ grounded her, even if her thoughts (and hands) wandered.

What stressed her the most was the prospect that Moira would hurt herself. She’d look too far, tamper with ideas she shouldn’t for the sake of  _ knowing _ , and Clover wouldn’t be there to help. She wouldn’t catch her in time. That was only in the lab— there was still the field to worry about. A mission could go awry, something could happen—

“I’m sorry, then.” Moira drew her thumb across her knuckles before she placed her hand back on the gear shift. She didn’t swap back to manual, however, opting to stay in automatic for the drive. “I shouldn’t poke fun at your anxieties. Forgive me.”

“It's alright,” Clover assured, having spooked herself. “Nothing I can’t handle. Nothing I  _ haven’t. _ ”

They fell into silence. Clover watched the streets of Rome roll by. It was different seeing it in the daylight; It was bright and lively, and pedestrians were dressed for the warming weather. It teetered on the edge of summer, the blooms of May melding into the comfort of June.

It was wholly different from other places she’d stayed, yet strikingly familiar at the same time. Lots of walking and biking— it reminded her of the Netherlands, and almost made her homesick. The motorcycles reminded her of Paris, and London. The city was more colorful than Zurich, and felt  _ happier.  _ The architecture was more striking to her.

She liked Rome, she decided. Blackwatch wasn’t awful, as she’d expected it to be.  _ Strenuous, _ yes, and physically taxing, but… well, it didn't feel like people were breathing down their neck any longer. They only had to worry about Gabriel, who was lenient on some things and strict on many more.

  
Clover’s energy was beginning to wane by the fourth store. She pulled what felt like the upteenth dress from it’s place among the others. Seeing the price, she paled. “Why do you  _ insist _ on expensive places?”

Moira glanced over it, seeming unbothered by the number. “Because I can afford it, darling.” She shifted a number of bags on her arm— all Clover’s. They’d dropped her suit off in the car.

Stopping at the tailor nearly did her in. Seeing Moira modeling the finished piece was…  _ well,  _ she should have bought one in navy sooner.

Clover narrowed her eyes. “How much do you get paid? There’s no way Overwatch was  _ that _ lucrative.”

Moira smiled down at her. “You’ll find out in a few months, won’t you?”

A fair point. When her internship was up…  _ what then? _

She supposed she’d continue her work in Blackwatch, if Gabriel would have her. Though, she was unsure of her place among the team.  _ Was she even part of the team? Or was she just there as a consolation?  _ Would she remain bound to the lab?

Would she continue to linger in Moira’s shadow, or be presented the opportunity to jumpstart her own research?

Clover tightened her hold on the dress at the thought. “...Maybe.”

Moira’s head gave a curious tilt at that. “Maybe?”

Shrugging, she laid the dress over her arm. “I don’t know where I’ll end up? There’s quite a few months between now and then.” Four, she knew. Before she could take a job as an independent, official geneticist. Not long enough with Moira... 

“Am I  _ needed  _ here? In Blackwatch?”

… or would she return to Zurich? Would they accept her, after what Moira had done? Where would  _ she  _ end up?

Perhaps Blackwatch is  _ exactly  _ where she belonged. They were all outcasts— Overwatch was too polished and  _ neat  _ and _ pristine _ . Blackwatch, however, got  _ results. _

“Your contributions are valued, at least in the lab.” Moira took the garments she wanted so she could continue to shop. “The field, however, is something I do not wish you to ever experience.”

The words gave her pause. Clover half turned, her frown returning. “Excuse me?”

Moira shifted the clothes in her arms. “There are things that we do that… frankly, Clover, I think would break someone like you.”

Something about her phrasing didn’t sit right. “Someone like me? Explain.”

Moira sighed, looking away. “Such is not a conversation to be had in the middle of a  _ store _ .”

“Then why bring it up?” She mumbled, more to herself. 

“Where do  _ you _ see yourself?” Moira swapped the subject. “When your internship is through— where would  _ you  _ like to go?”

Her eyes dipped away as she pondered it. “I liked Oasis,” she confided. “I… think, one day, down the line, I’d like to teach. Not permanently— just have my own lecture series. Maybe see the inside of one of those labs. I bet they’re  _ huge _ .”

Shaking her head, she started to flick through the racks again. “That’s a long way away. I want to start up my own research first, get somewhere with it. More importantly, I…”

Clover hesitated. Why were the words hard, suddenly? “I want to stay with you.”

“No one says you can’t do both,” Moira reminded.

“I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t want the distance. Have you  _ seen _ the way it makes Jack and Gabe fight?”

Moira leaned over, catching her eye. “We are not them,  _ coinín _ . I would trust you’d talk to me if you felt something wrong.”

“Of course I would.” Clover met her eyes. “And I trust  _ you  _ would do the same.”

Moira smiled, shifting the clothes in her arms so she could reach forward. She brushed her thumb over Clover’s chin. “Of course, darling.”

She hesitated, eyebrows furrowed as she glanced between Moira’s eyes. “What did you mean ‘ _ people like me’ _ ? Do you not think I can hold my own?”

As she didn't leave it alone, Moira sighed. Her thumb traced the edge of her lip before her hand fell away. “Clover.”

“I’d like an answer, Moira, and not a deflection.”

Something shifted across her features, and Clover couldn’t read it. “You’re highly empathetic. There’s a certain detachment that one needs with a job such as this. You try to see the best in others, and because of that I do not believe you’re capable of separating humanity from a potential threat. Your trusting nature opens you up to a slew of dangers you don’t even know exist.”

Clover tilted her head. She remembered the warnings that had lingered in the back of her mind, muted but never silent.

“Are  _ you _ dangerous, Moira?”

The question appeared to catch her off guard. “ _Am_ _I_?”

She glanced over her tall form. The woman was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. “I don’t think you’d hurt me, no.”

“What you think and what is fact are two wildly different things, Clover. Anything can happen.”

Her gaze had wandered back to the rack. She pulled a pair of jeans in her size. Deeming them acceptable, she draped them over her own arm with a few other pieces she wanted to try. “I trust you, Moira— I have no reason  _ not _ to. I wish you’d see that.”

It was, at least, easy to convince herself of such. Moira was not a  _ bad person—  _ she wasn’t outwardly mean or aggressive. She was cold, and kept her distance from many, but she didn’t go around picking fights. Not on a good day.

She did bad  _ things _ , perhaps. There’d been the time she’d tested her biotic grasp on her… but really, it was her own fault for allowing it, right? Clover knew the risks. She could have said no. Moira had tested on the rabbits without approval from the organization— a small sacrifice for a better understanding of human evolution. A necessary evil.

“You’re a trusting person,” Moira responded from behind. “Not everyone will share the same sentiments.”

“So I’ve found,” Clover sighed. 

Moira placed a kiss to her temple. “Go try this last round on and I’ll let you be. We’ll head back to the car, drop the bags off, and get gelato. How does that sound?”

Clover eyed her suspiciously. “You’re starting to sound like a sugar momma.”

“I simply like to see you happy.” Even so, her cheeks had turned red.

After abandoning the bags to the car, they set off on foot. It wasn’t hard to find gelato, not close to the city center. There had been a storefront down the street from the second shop they’d been in.

Clover slowed. Moira was a half a step ahead before she realized her partner had grown distracted. Following her gaze, a scowl settled on her features as she took in what had captivated her.

She’d stopped in front of the only historical building on the street. The facade was adorned with aged sculptures. Some were chipped, others missing entire sections. The Omnic crisis hadn’t been forgiving and Null Sector hadn’t cared that hundreds of years worth of art was caught in the crossfire.

The ones that were intact were beautiful. Depictions of fabric flowed with grace, as though they had been frozen in time and not carved from stone. Bodies were soft, the curves soothing the harshness of the human form.

The main statue hung above the door. The depicted man— some saint or another, surely,— had his hands clasped in prayer. His statue and the alcove it rested within was flanked with intricately carved wings.

There was an illuminated plaque mounted in front of the building. It scrolled in several different languages for tourists. A few people around them were encaptivated by the building as well, having stopped to take pictures. The rest of the city moved along, not giving a second thought to the rare remainder of a time before the crisis. Locals, likely, who had seen it a million times. It had lost its luster.

“San Carlino,” Clover glanced down at the sign. “It used to be a cathedral. Interesting.” She looked back up, finding Moira directing displeasure at the building. “Do you hate the art or something?”

“Baroque is a fine period,” she commented, because of  _ course  _ she’d know something or two about art history. Yet, she didn’t sound as though she considered it fine. “How unfortunate it’s marred largely by benighted religious iconographies.”

Clover blinked at the hostility she held. “It’s just a church, Moira. No need to insult it.”

She blinked, drawn from her mood. “Do you hold faith?” Moira peered down at her.

Clover shook her head. “No.”

“As I thought,” she nodded, pleased with the answer. “You’re a scientist, you  _ understand  _ that there is no narcissistic old man living in the sky.”

Clover glanced back to the church. “No, I know there’s not. But being a scientist has nothing to do with that.”

“Of course it does,” Moira scoffed. She pulled her hand free from her partner’s to dig for a cigarette. “You’re smart enough to accept what is  _ fact _ . There’s  _ nothing _ to prove religion, and there never will be.”

“I don’t think people are any less intelligent for believing in something greater than us.” She frowned up to her partner.

“Why not, if you find it to be false? You just said you don’t believe in God,” Moira seemed perplexed by the notion.

Clover huffed. “That doesn’t mean I look down on others for believing.”

Eyebrows knit together, she turned back to the building. “There’s big questions that I just… hate  _ not _ knowing the answer to. How did we get here? What gave us sentience beyond the drive to  _ survive _ ? Why can we go on to create everything around us, all these advancements, but nothing on any other planet has? Is there something greater out there?”

Moira exhaled, the smoke curling from her lips. “Bacteria on a meteorite, most likely. That, coupled with the fact that planet is spaced far enough from the sun to provide  _ ample  _ parameters for a slow but  _ sure _ evolution—“

Clover sighed, looking back to the building as she started into a rambling session.

The expression she wore caused Moira to falter. “... something wrong?”

“You’re always thinking  _ science _ . Is there nothing you believe in that maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ might be a  _ little  _ spiritual? Something that you can accept without concrete proof?”

“Spirituality has done me no favors.” Moira put the cigarette back to her lips, muttering around it. “More harm than good, really.”

Clover looked up to her curiously. “How so?”

Her eyes tightened, and she realized it was an insensitive question. 

“My mother  _ attempted  _ to raise me Catholic. Well, it didn’t stick, as you can see. The thought of a  _ man  _ reading every curious thought younger me had, waiting for me to toe out of line and  _ sin  _ under his  _ good name,  _ was not appreciated. It caused more resentment than anything,” she grumbled, flicking her ashes aside. “I could go on about the rampant homophobia and transphobia within the church as well, but I digress.”

Clover took her hand, squeezing it. “I’m sorry you had a bad experience. Just… you can’t insult other’s faith, and you can’t insult  _ them _ . Even if you think it’s stupid, a lot of people find comfort in it.”

Moira’s expression pinched in anger, another scowl lingering just behind the surface. When she looked down at Clover, it dissipated and she just looked  _ tired _ .

She sighed, smoke pouring from her lips. “When I told her I was an atheist, she asked me who put the thought into my head.” She snorted as though the answer humored her. “I told her the truth—  _ no one  _ had, not directly anyway. I believed more in my Biology textbook. She nearly pulled me out of public school for that one.

“I don’t belive my own mother stupid, you’re right.” Moira squinted at the building. “Perhaps...  _ naïve _ is a better word.” Her expression changed again, this time almost melancholy. Clover wondered what she was thinking about— what discomfort was she holding onto.

“Better,” Clover agreed. She moved her hand up Moira’s arm, holding onto it. “Would she approve of me? I mean…”

Moira looked down at her again. “If you’re trying to ask if she’s bigoted,  _ no _ . She’s  _ not _ . She’s always been very accepting of who I am— No, she merely draws the line at the thought of me going to hell for being a heretic.”

“Every mother wants the best for her kid.”

Seeing her smug smile, Moira rolled her eyes. “ _ Of course. _ ” She finished her cigarette and tossed the end onto the ground. Clover frowned at her littering, but didn’t comment. 

“She can excuse the fact that I love women, and the fact that I don’t conform to a strict binary lifestyle. She can excuse the thousands of sins I apparently commit just by  _ existing _ , but not that I don’t believe.” She shook her head, emitting a dry laugh.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Clover pushed, voice gentle.

Moira glanced away, thinking on it. “It’s been… a considerably long time since my mother has met one of my partners.” She pat Clover’s hand as they began to walk again. “She'd  _ adore  _ you,  _ mo stór. _ You’d get along well.”

Clover beamed up to her. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Moira nodded. “You two would have a field day thinking up new ways to fret over me.”

A smirk formed. “At least you know I don’t believe you’re going to hell.”

A thin smile stretched across Moira’s lips. “Perhaps I should.” 

It didn’t sound like a joke.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning— kind of a lengthy chapter :)

Moira was very good at most things she did. It was a fact— time and time again, as Clover grew to know her, she’d proven as much. 

That included breaking her resolve with a few thinly veiled innuendos and perfectly timed smirks.

The two had, in a foreseeable turn of events, ended up on the lab floor in a heap. The door was locked and likely breaking a slew of protocols during daylight hours. It was late in the afternoon and it was unlikely they’d be interrupted, but still a comforting gesture, Clover thought.

They were equally as startled as their respective phones chimed, one right after the other, above them.

Clover was the only one in an available position to grab one of the devices. She threw her hand out towards the top of the desk, desperate for a hold on her cellphone while Moira seemed unfazed. As her teeth dug into her thigh, Clover _yelped_ and managed to throw the phone into the floor.

Snatching the device, she made a face at the awaiting text message. “Gabe wants you downstairs for a mission brief.”

“You too, if he paged you,” Moira muttered against her, and Clover shuddered. Her fingers traveled up the lower half of Clover’s exposed spine, feeling the ridges of her vertebrae under slender fingers. “He can wait.”

They started to twist at her bra clasp, to draw her out of it, but Clover pushed her fingers into Moira’s hair, forcing her to back off. Good timing, because if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have been sure they’d ever make it downstairs. 

“You know he’s not good at that.”

Moira sighed in defeat, knocking her head back against the tile. “You’re right. I’ll make this up to you later.” Her mismatched eyes roamed down the front of Clover’s body, taking in her state of disarray. Her hair was mused, shirt tossed aside along with her jeans. Moira had _insisted_ she kept the lab coat on, though.

Truth be told, Moira wasn’t looking any better, with glossed lips and her own tousled hair.

“I can’t very well move until you do, darling,” she smirked as Clover’s eyes finally landed on her own.

Blushing, Clover climbed off of her, using the counter to draw herself up. She hastily pulled her jeans back on, hopping into them. Moira was still mostly dressed, only her shirt undone. Clover turned her and began to brush dirt off the back of her legs. Once she was done, she turned her back around. Reaching up, she began to button Moira’s shirt. A fond smile was playing on the taller’s lips at the doting. 

Once they had regained _some_ poise, they made their way downstairs. The rest of the team was already waiting for them.

Gabe was focused on flipping through a virtual file, swiping through the screen. She recognized a few images from the other’s Prague mission. Vialli’s photos were there, but the main focus was a new character they’d learned of.

“You’re late,” he snapped, not looking over.

They took their usual seats. Moira glanced at her phone in her palm, making an uncommitted noise. “You sent that text five minutes ago. You _are_ aware that it takes time to put away our toys when you decide to call an unprompted meeting?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Jesse’s lips. “Toys, huh?” 

Clover closed her eyes, half turning towards him. “I’m gonna pretend you didn't just say that.” _Even if they were just—_

He chuckled, and then yelped as Genji pinched his thigh. Mock pouting, he rubbed the spot while glaring at his partner.

“Can’t very well throw a beaker of _volatile nanites_ into a drawer and call it a day, McCree.” Moira glowered at him.

“Why are they volatile?”

“Why are you a nuisance?”

Sighing, Gabriel rubbed at his face. “Okay, _shut up_. This one’s pretty important— I can’t have you all acting like a bunch of fools this time.”

“I am nothing if not professional in every sense of the word.” Moira sat back in the chair, drawing one leg over the other. 

_Yes,_ Clover had to resist rolling her eyes. _Professional when she’s not buried between my thighs while waiting on the samples to finish spinning._

Clover wouldn’t say it out loud, but she had a feeling Genji was the most professional of the team. Even then, while they were bickering, he remained straight-backed and focused on the board. His eyes were flicking over it, taking in the information.

Gabe seemed to have a similar train of thought. He looked at Moira, a smirk playing on his lips. “Remember Bucharest, two years ago?”

Moira paled at the reminder he gave. Clover raised an eyebrow, only to receive a silent and swift head shake from the woman. She had a feeling she wouldn’t hear the story even if she asked. Clearing her throat, Moira nodded and gestured. “Please, continue.”

“Antonio Bartalotti— also known as Antonio _Giordani._ ” Gabe indicated to him on the screen. He looked smug in every single photo. “ _Renowned businessman_ , if you can even call him that.”

“The man’s got more than enough money to feed his party addiction. Women, drugs— you name it and he’s got it or had it. Blackwatch doesn’t care about something as petty as drugs, thoughts We’ve caught wind of his arms smuggling operations. Same issue as Vialli, though— we have no leads on the bastard.”

The projector in the middle of the table flickered to life, showing the layout of a waterfront palazzo. “He’s the host of an annual, high-end masquerade in Venice.” Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t tell if he’s a genius or an idiot for hosting it in his own home.”

He turned to the group. “We have to get in there. Blackwatch gets _results,_ and so far we’ve done a piss poor job at it. At this point, I’ll take whatever I can to make sure these Talon fuckers never see the light of day again.”

They began arguing around her, as they always did. Jesse was concocting a surefire plan to fail, including him and Gabriel posing as waiters. Moira rolled her eyes and _laughed_ at the thought that Jesse could pass for anything other than a cowhand.

She closed her eyes, sighing as four different voices began to overlap. Inviting her to the briefings had to be more for show than anything; she’d begun to believe she was only there as an extension of Moira.

When would they all see her clearly for who she was? How could _she_ help?

Clover opened her eyes. “I’ll go.”

The room fell silent, then, four pairs of eyes turning towards her. She glanced between them, refusing to shrink back in her seat. _I’ve earned my spot here—_ isn’t that what she had told Moira in the labs?

She’d earn her place in Blackwatch as well, no matter what it took.

“ _Absolutely not,”_ Moira scowled once the words sunk in. “I won’t allow it.”

Clover blinked in surprise at the harsh words. “ _You won’t allow it?_ ” she repeated slowly. Clover felt _hot,_ and not in the euphoric way she had thirty minutes ago. “Who, exactly, are _you_ to tell me what I can and can not do?”

Shaking her head, Moira folded her arms across her chest. “I despise the thought of you waltzing into a potential hotbed of terrorist activity. It’s too dangerous.”

“But it’s okay when _you_ do it?” she argued, unable to check her temper.

Moira frowned at her. “I have been doing this off and on for several years, Clover. _I_ know what I’m doing, and what to expect out there.”

That pissed her off even further. “Then please, by all means, tell me who you expect to go!” Clover flopped back in her seat. She waved her hand towards Gabriel. “Because him? He’s a ghost.

“Ouch, Haugen.”

She pointed at Jesse, then. “He’s a _cowboy_.”

“Guilty.”

Her finger flicked towards Genji. “ _He’s_ a _cyborg ninja._ ”

“Thank you?”

“And you? You’re—“

Clover hesitated, not having thought her response through as she gestured, finally, towards Moira. She blinked, making a quick grabbing motion as she searched for an appropriate term. Her eyes flicked to Gabriel for help. Looking back, Moira had an eyebrow perched, waiting for her answer.

“I’m _what,_ Dr. Haugen? _”_

“... _tall_ ,” she finished lamely. Gabe was no help. He snickered, and based on the look Moira shot him, she wanted to muzzle him. Ignoring him, she continued to the point she had been trying to make.

“I am the best chance you all have because I’m the most inconspicuous person in this room.” Clover laid her hands on the table, palms up. “Besides— what’s the point of subjecting me to all this training if I can’t put it to use? I have to start somewhere.”

Moira looked to their commander for support. “ _Gabriel_.” She sounded put out and ready for the conversation to be over.

He had managed to calm himself, his laughter subsiding. “I don’t like the idea any more than you do, Moira.”

“ _Thank you.”_

“—but,” he continued, much to her dismay and Clover’s astonishment, “she has a point.”

Jesse nodded. “I have to agree. The three of us guys moseying around as waiters… we can’t get close to him. If Prague was anything to go by, the man’s definitely not gay.” He clapped Clover on the shoulder and, finally, she could keep herself straight as he did. “Tulip here, though, is every straight man’s fantasy!”

Both women glowered at him.

He held up his hands defensively, backpedaling. “I just mean she’s small and innocent lookin’!”

“Gee, _thanks_.” Her voice was soaked with abundant sarcasm.

Genji’s eyebrows creased. “I have to agree with Moira, Commander. We do not know what we are up against, and she has never been on a mission.”

“ _Grand—_ someone else who understands just how egregious of an idea this is.” The edge of Moira’s lip ticked up as she tried to suppress a sneer. “Seems like Genji has the common sense between you two today, McCree.”

Reyes shook his head at their infighting, flicking around the holographic map. “We’ll be close by.” He looked up to Moira, eyebrows raised. “She’s right, though— you can’t tell her what to do. She understands the risks.”

Then, while still fiddling with the map of the building, he directed his voice towards Clover. “You _do_ understand what this entails, correct? You’re offering to go in there, rub shoulders with a _terrorist_ , gather intel, _and_ come back— _in one piece_. If anyone finds out you’re not meant to be there—“

“ _Commander Reyes_ ,” Moira warned, tone serrated.

Gabe held a hand up. “She’s not a kid, Moira.” His brown eyes, almost black, were unnervingly calm as they met Clover’s. 

“They will not hesitate to kill you. Hell, they’ll more than likely torture you first. Ever been waterboarded?”

Clover swallowed. “Can’t say I have?”

“A classic,” he nodded, thinking it over, “but they’ll probably do _much_ worse. They will break you apart until you’re begging for death. Do you understand what you’re volunteering for?”

She pushed her hands into her coat pockets to hide their shaking. The job came with danger, something she’d been told since her transfer. Hell, it was something she worried about every time she saw Moira boarding the drop ship. It wasn’t until she imagined herself in the middle of a mission that it was put into perspective that anything could happen.

It wasn’t enough to stop her from trying. If she backed down, she’d look weak.

“I understand.”

Nodding, he went back to searching through the map. “Good. We leave tomorrow evening; we’re going to send you in the front door, so dress nice.”

“Do I get to take the polearm?” Her eyes lit up in excitement at the prospect. It had been fun, she found, using it in the training bay.

“No,” Gabe sighed at her eagerness. “For fuck’s sake— Where the hell would you even _hide it?_ ”

She opened her mouth, but was interrupted before she could try to save face.

Moira pushed back from the table, nearly throwing her chair over in the process. Her hands slammed to the table, causing Clover and Jesse both to jump. Looking up, she took in how red Moira was, how her cowlick had come loose from it’s styling. She looked positively _furious._

“Gabriel Reyes, you can not be _fuckin’_ serious.”

Her blatant swearing startled the group, her accent catching on the indecent word.

Gabriel waved his hand, closing the map. He didn’t lash out, or snap back. Clover was surprised at the way he kept himself composed. Was he not angry?

“Get out.”

Nope, there it was. Just very, _very_ restrained.

Her expression twisted into disbelief. “ _Get out?_ ” she repeated slowly. “No, we’re not _finished here!_ This is not a game, she’ll get hurt and it will be _your fault_ —!”

His dark eyes met hers. “Get out,” he repeated slowly, “before I have you thrown out, O’Deorain.”

Moira’s nails scraped against the table as she sneered. “I am your _field medic,_ ” she growled. “Any decisions you make, _I_ take part in. _I_ am the one keeping you all alive out there.”

“I am your commander,” He retorted. “If you can’t shut up and take direction, I’ll be happy to call in Ziegler for a one-off. From what I remember, you said she’s _great_ at following orders.”

Jesse, Clover and Genji all side-eyed each other. If Moira had been angry before, she was downright _pissed_ at the thought of being replaced by Angela. The three began to stand, to make their way quietly from the room and let them have at each other, but Gabriel snapped at them to sit before they could.

“She is far too _passive_ for a job such as this, and you _know it_ ,” Moira narrowed her eyes. “That is why you hired _me_ and not _her._ Let her continue to flit around Overwatch where she belongs.”

Clover threaded her fingers together, staring at them wide-eyed. It would be suicidal to interrupt, to try and calm her down.

“Yeah? Well that professionalism that got you in here is starting to wear off,” Gabe snapped. “I will not stand here and be berated by you because you don’t believe Haugen is competent enough to do this.” She started to interrupt again, but he threw his hand up to silence her.

“When I hired you, I expected more, Moira.” Gabe’s gaze was unwavering. Clover could only imagine how Moira felt, being on the receiving end ofIt. “I thought you’d be better than this, that you could look at things _objectively_.”

“Jack looked the other way when you babied Angela, but I won’t standby and let you do the same to Clover. So, until you can separate your personal life from the mission and do your job without throwing a tantrum, and until you can talk to the other members of your team with _respect_ like an _adult_ , I’m going to need you to take a time out.”

Her face turned an ever darker shade of red, and Clover prayed she never saw it again. Moira straightened her back, turned on her heel, and stomped from the room.

“Come back when you can stop acting like a little bitch,” Gabe spit after her before the door slammed shut. Through the window, Clover watched as she stormed down the hallway, different members of Blackwatch parting around her to avoid over six feet of pure wrath. 

She frowned, turning to Gabriel. “Don’t call her a bitch.”

“I guarantee you she’s calling me worse right now,” he sighed, bringing the map of the estate up once more. “Besides— I didn’t say she _was_ a bitch. I said she was _acting_ like one. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Jesse mumbled, drawing the edge of his hat down. Clover shot a glare in his direction.

She pushed away from the table. “I’m gonna go calm her down.”

Gabe huffed, beginning to scroll through files on Antonio. “ _Fine._ I want both of you back here in no more than fifteen minutes, understood?”

“Yes, commander,” she nodded before slipping from the room.

She’d gone the opposite way of the elevators, and Clover didn't have to be a genius to understand where she was heading. Pushing through the main doors of the building, she squinted at the assault of blinding sunlight on her eyes.

She circled the courtyard until she found Moira in one of her usual smoking spots. She was standing over the trash can, foot tapping impatiently as she inhaled the cigarette like it was air.

Upon seeing her, a frown set into her features. “You can not serious about doing this.”

Clover stopped her, holding up a hand. “You don’t have a right to tell me what I can and can’t do, Moira.”

She flicked the useless filter to the ground, finished with it. Embers skittered across the sidewalk before she crushed it beneath her heel. “You’re attempting to throw yourself headlong into a _dangerous_ line of work, Clover. I will not apologize for pointing that out.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you asked Gabe to transfer me.” She glared at her trash. “And don’t litter.”

The callout caught her off guard. Moira bent, snatching it before disposing of it into the receptacle. “Asking for a transfer was in your best interest.”

“Best for me or best for _you?_ ” She snapped. “I’m my own person, Moira— not just your intern, and not just your _partner_. I’m fully capable of thinking for myself.” She folded her arms. “Got along _just fine_ for thirty-two years without you micromanaging me.”

“Why are you so set on getting yourself killed?” Moira started to fish out another cigarette, but Clover snatched the carton. 

“You’re gonna kill _yourself_ on these if you don’t stop!”

“I’ve put much worse in my body,” she grumbled around the fresh smoke. Moira reached to snatch it back, only for Clover to slam the entire pack into the trash— lighter and all. Moira frowned at the loss, staring hard into the receptacle. “Thank you. Now I’ll need to stop at the _store_ ,” she sighed and pocketed the unlit cigarette.

Shaking her head, Moira looked away. “Why is it so difficult for you to understand that I don’t want you to get hurt? Why can’t you accept your place in the lab?”

Clover’s irritations spilled over. “When will you stop seeing me as some fragile little _rabbit_ and see me as the capable woman I am?!”

Those eyes focused on her, and a Clover regretted her words in an instant. The walls she kept up, continued to patch with fresh cement and bricks each time Clover chipped away at them, had cracked. It was evident by the fear in her eyes.

She didn’t even know Moira could be scared.

“Because I can’t bear the thought of losing you, too, Clover!”

Moira sighed sharply through her nose, her expression setting once more. Her walls were thrown back up as she seethed, glaring into the trash can at the remainder of her cigarettes.

“I don’t want to lose you, either, Moira,” Clover whispered. She took the woman’s hands, relaxing when she didn’t tear them away. “You know how much I worry when you go off on these excursions. I just… Let me prove myself. It will be _fine_.” She squeezed her hands, trying to draw her attention. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

She pursed her lips, looking down. Her expression softened as Clover touched her cheek, just a fraction. “The worse thing is you _die_.”

“Then I’ll try _really hard_ to avoid that, just for you.” She stepped closer, closing the gap between them. “You’ll be there to patch me up if anything happens.”

Moira swallowed. “I’m not an _angel._ Do you really believe in me? That I’ll take care of you?”

Clover squeezed her hands. “I do.” A frown touched her lips, and she reached up to brush a stray hair from Moira’s face. “So why don’t you?”

A sad smile crossed her lips. “I have been told I hurt more than I heal.”

Sighing, Clover placed both hands on her cheeks. “Stop being so dramatic, Moira. Things will be _fine._ ” She pat her face, and enjoyed the startled expression it earned her 

“Now, I’d like to get back inside before Gabe kicks both of our asses, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting into the thick of the plot now, champions! Expect some longer chapters as this arc unfolds :—)


	36. Chapter 36

Moira had just spent an ungodly amount of money on her, and they were back at it again, looking for a suitable dress for the masquerade. So far she’d tried on what felt like a hundred dresses and was reaching the bottom of a reservoir of patience. 

“Hey— Why don’t you pull something, I don’t know, red? You quite like me in red.” Clover grimaced at her reflection, holding up the silver satin gown.

“What I like and what _Bartalotti_ likes shall continue to remain two separate entities.” The hostility was back in her voice. She couldn’t recall the last she’d heard it—months ago, she’d assume, based on her surprise at the tone. “If you’re going to insult my choice in evening wear, you’ll find you’re _perfectly_ capable of shopping on your own.”

“Yes, but you always look like you just stepped out of _Vogue_.” Clover sighed, stepping into the skirt. “... you weren’t so crabby last weekend.”

Moira huffed on the other side of the door. “ _Well_. That outing was specifically regarding _us_. It’s different when you’re picking an outfit to _die in_.”

Hazel eyes rolled behind her glasses. “Really, Moira, you’re being paranoid. _I’m_ supposed to be the paranoid one.” She pulled the bodice up, shimmying into the a-line dress. 

“Are you _jealous_ , Moira?” It would explain her vexation.

“Hardly,” she scoffed immediately. “He’s a _man_. _Surely_ he’s not a contender for your affection.”

Clover shook her head. “Off topic. Anyway, isn’t the idea to draw his attention? Don’t you think I’d do that a bit better in something... _not_ so modest?

“If you try too hard, you’ll garner more attention than necessary. It’s safer to play it simple, to blend in. You don’t want too many eyes on you.”

“ _I_ don’t, or _you_ don’t?”

Whatever retort Moira had been putting together died on her tongue when Clover opened the door. Her eyes glanced down immediately to take in her appearance.

“Help me?” She turned back towards the mirror. Drawing her hair up, she gave Moira room to work.

She tugged the zipper into place and lined up the hook and eye at the top. Her fingers traced Clover’s shoulders before guiding her hair back down.

“You’re too beautiful to overlook, _mo stór_ ,” Moira caught her eyes in the mirror. “Forgive me if I sound selfish.”

Clover offered her a sheepish smile before returning to the mirror. She changed the subject, not wanting to think about flirting with Antonio Bartalotti. “At least I can _move_ in this one. That second dress… I would have been more tulle than human.”

Blinking, she glanced over her own form a few times. “ _Godverdomme_ ,” she breathed, looking down at her chest. “I don’t think my boobs have ever looked this good.”

Moira pointedly reached around and tugged the bodice up. “I’d like to _continue_ to be the only one allowed to see them, if you don’t mind.” Then, after a moment of consideration. “... trust me. They have— _do. Frequently._ ”

“Do I need to start watching you for a wandering gaze, Moira O’Deorain?” She arched an eyebrow.

Scoffing and avoiding her eyes, Moira shook her head. “Maybe if you paid more attention you would have noticed my staring _sooner_. I’m still astonished it took you _three months_ to notice my interest.”

Clover’s face heated up. “Three months from _when?_ ”

“From when?” Moira looked just as bewildered by her confusion. “From you _arriving_ , of course. I don’t think I was really _sure_ until the Gallery, but when you showed up… You came in late and immediately—”

Her own face turned scarlet then, and she stopped talking.

Clover flopped into the provided chair, exhausted from trying on gown after gown. “Immediately _what?_ ”

Moira knelt to the floor before her, shaking her head. “Tangential. What I’m _trying_ to say is that… you're very special to me, Clover. You’re gorgeous, and more importantly you’ve shown me far more kindness than I deserve— _especially_ after the way I initially treated you.”

“You deserve it, Moira.” Clover frowned. “Please don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not like you.”

She offered her partner a melancholy smile. “Then you don’t know me very well.”

Clover blinked in surprise, her curiosity poised on the top of her tongue. It fizzled out as she drew her leg over her shoulder. It was when she began to glide her hands up the limb that she gripped the armrests, mouth falling open in shock.

“Here?” She gasped as those fingers pushed the slit of the dress aside. “ _Really?_ ”

The hands traveling up her leg shifted, and she felt slender fingers clip something around her thigh. Moira tugged on the holster to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere. “Jesse will give you your pistol when we arrive in Venice tomorrow. Might I remind you it is for _emergencies_.”

She tilted her cheek against her knee, a mischievous glint to her heterochromatic eyes. “What did you _think_ I was doing, darling?”

Clover tossed her skirt over Moira’s head so she wouldn’t have to see her smug expression. “You know damn well what it looked like!”

Instead of working her way from under the dress, Moira grabbed Clover by the thighs, drawing her towards the edge of the seat. Clover didn’t mind the way her nose nuzzled against her warm skin, or the brief kisses to the insides of her thighs— she welcomed them, in fact, as they made her eyelashes flutter and her breath weak. 

No, it was the _bite_ that caused her to yelp in shock. Bunching up the fabric, she jerked it up so she could glare at Moira.

“Apologies, couldn’t resist.” she murmured, resting her chin on her knee once more. “Now, I believe I still owe you for earlier.” A sly smirk graced her lips.

Face hot, Clover threw the skirt back over her head. “ _Shut up_ and answer my question.”

“Which is it?” Clover shuddered as her lips traced her thigh again. “Shut up, or provide you with a response?”

“The second one.” She shifted, putting her foot back onto the floor and forcing Moira to withdraw. She stood and dusted dirt from the shins of her slacks.

“What were we talking about again?”

“My first day of work.”

Moira sighed at her importuning. She motioned for Clover to stand. Once she did, she turned at her silent insistence. “You came in and captivated me. I was just _very good_ at hiding it; I didn’t…”

Clover glanced at her in the mirror. “Didn’t want to upset the balance?” She guessed.

Moira shook her head. A small ‘v’ etched between her eyebrows as she considered her words. She undid the clasp at the top of the dress and lowered the zipper, beginning to draw her out of it. “I didn’t want to make the same mistake I did with Angela. I let my initial infatuation cloud my judgement, and…” 

She scowled at the memory. “I thought she was brilliant and beautiful. I couldn’t get past that, I couldn’t see things objectively, and when we started arguing over work— well…things went very bad very quickly.”

A large part of her was elated to hear the confirmation of her attraction. The other part, however, felt very _odd_ about how she spoke about Angela.

Clover pulled her arms from the sleeves. When Moira pulled the gown down her body, she stepped free of the skirt. “What do I have that she doesn’t?” Angela was a world renown doctor— much more established than Clover. She seemed nice as well, perhaps overly so at times, but polite. Gorgeous, not plain like she felt. Always on the move and being flirted with, but able to brush it off in a very humble manner.

 _There’s no reason to be jealous of her_.

_Jealous? You think I’m jealous of her?_

Clover’s gaze dipped to the side as she remembered the conversation. She wasn’t envious of Angela Ziegler. She couldn’t be. No, that relationship had ended— quite poorly, at least on Moira’s end, from what she had been told.

“Compassion,” she answered quickly, clipping Clover’s bitter thoughts at the root. “You don’t look at me and see an unrestrained monster. You _understand_ me, my vision. You… support me, entirely and with unwavering faith.” A frown touched the corner of her lips, but she didn’t continue.

“I like to think I do,” Clover agreed. She started to reach for her clothes, only to be stopped as Moira wrapped her arms around her middle. Her chin came to rest on the top of her head. She frowned as well at the sight reflected back. “Something you said earlier bothers me, though.”

“I apologize. What was it?”

Clover pulled her discarded jeans closer with her foot. Moira didn’t seem prepared to let her go so easily. “You said… you said I don’t know you, then, if I think that you being hard on yourself isn’t normal. Do you…?”

 _Do you want to talk about it?_ Christ, that sounded stupid.

“Are you alright?” she settled. “Is there anything I can do?” How could Clover help her see herself the way she did?

Moira shrugged. “I’m fine, _coinín_. Don’t worry yourself over me.” She placed a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her. “I’ll leave you to get dressed. Unless you need _shoes_ as well, I can take the gown and pay.”

Clover frowned at her. She was lying.

“That’s fine,” she nodded, turning back towards the mirror. She hopped into her pants and quickly fastened them. Her eyes ranked over the mirror and she noticed Moira’s eyes. She followed her gaze and grinned as she realized where she was staring.

“Get out!” She playfully started shoving her towards the door. “You can stare at my breasts later!”

“Is that a promise, bunny?” She held onto the dress firmly, a smug smirk playing on her lips.

Clover opened the door and nudged her out into the hall. Before she could dip back in, she forced it shut and flipped the lock. “You can do more than that if you _behave_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another conversation heavy chapter, who would have thought?


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is double the typical length orz

Clover’s hostility towards planes had not vanished. She’d been on three in as many months, more than she’d been on in the same number of years. The dropship was somehow better than a commercial aircraft, she’d admit. It was nowhere near as loud, and didn’t shake quite as horrifyingly from turbulence. It seemed the organization didn’t cheap out on their engineers. A blessing, really.

“Are you doing alright?”

Clover frowned, throwing one leg over the other. She smoothed her skirt back down after. “You know how I feel about planes.”

“If they unsettle you so much, why were you so adamant about participating in the mission?” Moira arched an eyebrow. “Very counter intuitive.”

Shaking her head, Clover glanced at the abandoned game of war laid out across the table. She’d promised to pick it up with Jesse later, but was no longer in the mood. “I’m not having this roundabout argument with you again, Moira.”

She had already been pissed enough when the woman sauntered onto the ship, already in her medic gear, holding one of her suits in a bag. Her eyes flicked up to where it was hanging. When Clover had questioned it, she had made a comment about it not being too late for her to back out.

It had stung.

The woman sighed sharply. “So be it.”

She was relieved as Moira didn’t push the subject.

Gabe glanced back from the cockpit. Jesse was in the second seat, and Genji was hovering over him. “Lover’s quarrel?”

“No,” Clover snapped, beginning to gather the remnants of the cards. Jesse did a double take and started to protest, but gave up as she began to shove them back into the worn box. It could be restarted.

Gabe rolled his eyes and turned back to piloting the ship. “Good— I don’t want anything on your mind distracting you.”

He pressed a few buttons and handed the control’s to McCree. The ship tilted slightly as he adjusted their course, and Clover dug her fingers into Moira’s thigh to steady herself.

Gabe paced the floor. “To avoid suspicion, we’re dropping you on the mainland. Car’s aren’t allowed on the islands, for obvious reasons, and it’s about eight miles across— for you _metric_ lovers, that would be… uh…”

“Thirteen kilometers,” Moira did the math for them, not needing a calculator. Her long fingers ghosted over the smaller ones on her leg. “Much too far for you to walk alone.”

“Precisely. Once you’re done, we’re swinging the ship around. There’s a marina a mile north of the palazzo that’s big enough to pick you up in. Figured if we grab any unwarranted attention they won’t immediately link you to it if you enter on your own.”

True to his word, they landed outside of the city. Moira escorted her from the ship and to the edge of the water. Clover was surprised to see an omnic gondolier waiting.

“Much too far to walk” Moira repeated as Clover side eyed her, the unspoken question plain on her face. “Can’t very well send you in a _car,_ as much as I’d rather drop you off myself.”

“Please,” Her voice dropped, her low timbre _different_ than usual. “If you feel distressed at any time, you have the right to walk away.” She frowned as she reached out, brushing her fingers against Clover’s cheek.

She closed her eyes at the sensation of the coldness— more from her weaponry than her experimentation. “No one will think any less of you for keeping yourself safe.”

Clover tilted her head as Moira helped her with the wire. “I know that.”

“You act as though you don’t.”

Sighing, Clover caught her hands as she pulled away. “I’ll be _safe,_ ” she assured. “Really— what could go wrong? And don’t say I’ll die,” she quickly tacked on as she saw Moira’s expression shift.

The woman sighed yet again, nodding. She didn’t speak, instead opting to help her with the mask they’d picked out. Her fingers trailed over the sharp edges of the mosaic pattern before dropping to her shoulder. “Go. We don’t need you being late.”

  
Reyes crackled to life in her ear, causing her to wince. “Don’t drink too much, lightweight.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she muttered, sipping from the flute. Glancing over, she realized she’d garnered the attention of an elderly couple while speaking to herself. Smiling awkwardly, she raised her glass in a faux toast before scampering off.

“And _don’t_ blow your cover. If you get your ass in hot water twenty minutes in, I’m never letting you out of the city again.”

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes at his pestering. “You sound like Moira,” she mumbled.

“ _I’m still on the channel._ ”

“Oh— my bad, dear,” she mumbled under her breath without remorse.

The house was nicer than she anticipated from the photos. Everywhere she turned there was a new bright and shiny bauble threatening to steal her attention. It appeared Antonio either liked his art, or the person he’d hired to decorate knew a thing or two about matching aesthetics.

People milled around her. An omnic waiter drifted by, and she abandoned her empty champagne flute to the tray. _No more,_ she mentally agreed with Reyes. Mixing alcohol with her sky-high anxiety would do her no favors.

Clover _was_ anxious to be there. What if Genji and Moira had been right? What if she was biting off more than she could chew? It would have been _easier_ to stay in the lab, to scrub test tubes and beakers, to polish the equipment while waiting for the team to return to base. Doing so, however, made her feel _worse_ as she had time to think of every little thing that could have gone wrong.

Fuck, maybe that’s how Moira felt at that moment. Waiting for something to go bad, expecting the worst.

Clover closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. Just a simple in and out job, that’s all it was. Flirt, show some leg, maybe a hint of chest and see what she could work out of Antonio. No man held the resolve of a fortress, she would find a way in.

… she hoped.

Slipping into the crowd, she scanned the sea of masks and formality before her. Pretty women flit around, hanging off the arms of men who had no business next to half of them. Some of the patrons were easily double the age of the women they flaunted.

Moira had been right— not many people were paying her any ounce of attention. She blended in well. Too well, she thought, wondering if she’d even garner Antonio’s attention. No one had seen the host all evening from what passing gossip she’d managed to piece together, her Italian severely lacking. If he didn’t show to his own party, she may reconsider her pledge of sobriety for the evening.

Clover made her way through the foyer. There were less people in the hallways, many of them opting to stand near the edge and talk. The music from the main room grew distant as she explored the estate.

She stopped to take in the view. It was a waterfront property, no surprise there. The moonlight glinted on the uneven surface of the water. She wondered what it would look like during the day, how the entire city would. 

She wondered if Moira would ever take her to Venice for pleasure rather than business.

 _Pay attention,_ she scowled at herself.

Uproarious laughter caught her attention. Glancing behind her, she discovered the source, as well as the man of the hour.

Antonio was surrounded by a group of his guests. He seemed to be in the middle of a joke, based on the way his company fell into another fit of giggles. Even with his own mask, she could tell exactly who he was.

Still, it didn’t make her feel any better being ogled by the man. A humored quip met her lips as she studied him. 

_If his neck were any thicker, you could mistake him for a heavy assault unit._

He caught her eye as she was smirking. With a fraction of a movement, he tilted his head curiously and allowed his eyes to roam over her. Clover let her expression soften to a smile before turning back towards the window.

_Take the bait._

She believed he excused himself from the conversation. She _really_ should have brushed up on the Italian she’d learned since moving, but hadn’t even considered it. As he neared, she could hear the heels of his derby’s on the tile.

“ _Ciao bella,_ ” he greeted as she turned towards him. Clover smiled politely and returned the greeting. He continued along, and she found herself unable to keep up. “ _Ho visto che mi stavi guardando e ho pensato di venire qui a fare due chiacchiere_.”

She blinked, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry—“ she laughed a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, careful to do so on the side without the wire. “I don’t speak Italian.”

He looked amused at that. “Forgive me— I couldn’t help but come over and introduce myself. With beauty such as yours, I could only assume you were local. Though, you don’t sound English, either. Where are you from _signorina?_ ”

Her face turned red— _not_ because of the compliment. Knowing that the other four were listening in did _not_ make her feel any better.

“The Netherlands,” she answered honestly. “I grew up in Amsterdam.” A white lie, hopefully one that would fly.

“Less personal details, Haugen. Keep it vague.” She withheld a wince at Reyes’ scolding in her ear.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Bartalotti.” She changed the subject before he could pry deeper. “Spacious, with quite the view. I’m sure it cost you a fortune.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “You know of me?” He extended a hand. “Please, call me Antonio.”

“Of course.” Clover accepted, attempting to mask her hesitancy. _Act natural._ “Antonio, then. It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine, _belladonna._ ”

She turned back to the window, glancing out across the lagoon. “Of course I know of you. Anyone would— you’re a very prominent businessman as I understand it. And, after all, is this not your event?” She glanced over her shoulder at the room of partygoers. “It’s all I’ve heard buzzing around the city.”

He studied her without speaking. She kept her expression even while looking out into the night, even as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

When he moved in her peripheral, Clover glanced over to his awaiting arm. “Walk with me?”

She flashed him another smile, accepting the gesture, her hand resting on the crook of his elbow. It immediately felt _wrong,_ flirting with him. She’d rather be hanging off of Moira. At least then she felt seen for more than her face.

 _Shut up and do your job, Haugen,_ she scolded herself, no Gabriel needed.

He led her through the estate, back towards the main entertainment in the foyer. The music was louder, but not overbearing. She could still catch snippets of the foreign conversations around her.

Antonio adjusted their hold until her hand was locked in his. He glanced around, to other pairs around them, before looking back to her. She realized it was a silent invitation to dance.

“You could ask, you know,” she chided, keeping her voice light as they moved. She wanted to get as much out of him verbally as humanly capable. “I enjoy dancing; you don’t have to lure me into it.”

Antonio smiles. He glanced over her figure again before settling on her face. “You continue to surprise me.”

“I find I’m not often what others expect of me,” she murmured. She tried not to tense as his other hand settled on her lower back.

With the rise and fall of the notes, they moved together, distractingly off-sync. Her hand had felt perfect within Moira’s— safe, protected even. Dwarfed by Antonio’s, she felt clammy and _wrong._ If he squeezed her hand any harder she feared he would fracture her metacarpals.

“A gorgeous woman such as yourself has no business being here,” he murmured in her ear, tugging her closer around the waist. Her head spun in an uncomfortable way at the way she could be moved so easily by him.

“Are you implying I should leave?” She tilted her face up to him, giving her best doe eyes. “You seemed quite pleased to have met me.”

He offered her a smirk. “No business being here _alone_ ,” he explained. “You’re too precious to be without an escort. Tell me—has another claimed your heart, _signorina?_ Must I compete twice as hard for your affection?”

In her other ear, she could hear McCree and Reyes attempting to stifle their laughter in the background. Her face burned—Moira’s silence wasn’t making her feel any better about the situation.

Too deep in it now to backpedal.

She flashed him an amorous smile that made her nauseous. “There’s no composition, I assure you.”

Not _technically_ a lie— Antonio just wasn’t aware he wasn’t in the game.

Jesse snickered in her ear and she almost winced. Moira’s silence was unnerving. Maybe she’d taken her earpiece out?

“Laugh again, Jesse, and I’ll see that your tongue is severed.”

Nope, she was still on the line. She’d never heard her threaten violence before, so this must be just as disturbing on her end.

It felt as though a thousand ants were marching up her spin, across her flesh. It had to be done—if they wanted information, Clover was the fastest way in. She had offered herself up. Sealing her fate, she had to see it through, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

“Can I have your name at least?” He pressed his nose into her hair. She closed her eyes and nearly stumbled into him as he faltered half a step behind in his lead. 

Clover tilted her head to look at him. “I quite like the little nicknames you’re giving me. I find the anonymity suits the theme.”

Antonio smiled again. “Of course, belladonna, if that’s what you wish.”

He didn’t let up, however. “What brings you to Venice?”

“Work.”

“What do you do?”

Clover wracked her brain for an answer. Something that wasn’t too far from the ordinary, but that would explain why she was able to attend such a high-end party. 

“I’m a doctor.” She didn’t specify what kind. “I took a job here in the city. I wanted a change of pace— It’s warmer, and the lagoon is quite beautiful. Different from up north.”

“I thought you weren’t that type of doctor.” Jesse commented in her ear.

Her dance partner seemed to accept the answer. He didn’t push it.

Antonio finally released her hand as the song began to fade. Instead of dropping it to his side, however, he brought it up to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Quicker than she intended, Clover brought her own up, pressing his hand to her cheek. He’d gone for the side with the earpiece. She could have brushed it off as a hearing disorder, possibly a cybernetic enhancement, but had a feeling it would raise suspicion.

“Thank you, Mr. Bartalotti. You’re quite the lovely dance partner.” A lie, not so much white this time as it was bold. The man couldn’t keep a steady lead. 

He brought her hand closer. His lips ghosted her knuckles before flipping her palm upright and placing a kiss to it. “Would you like a tour of the estate? I was just about to relocate to my study, but would not be disturbed if you wished to join me.”

 _Oh god,_ she thought, her heart rate picking up. _How far does this go? I should have asked Gabe. Oh, fuck—_

“Of course,” she managed. She pulled her hands away, trying to hide her nerves. “I’d love to see more of your home. Please, lead the way.”

The skirt of her dress ghosted along the Italian tile, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing the length of the corridor. With each step, she could feel the leather of the holster brush against her thigh. She absentmindedly adjusted the slit of the gown to ensure it was covered.

Away from the festivities, it was quiet. Still.

Dread wrapped it’s icy talons around her heart. She was in the midst of being personally escorted into the maw of hell— by none other than the Devil himself.

They crossed through a door and out into a courtyard. Clover stopped, briefly mesmerized by the greenery that flushed out the garden. She could name most of them, knowing many common types of flora through her own habits. One in particular caught her eye.

Clover drew her fingers along a flat leaf. “Nightshade,”she commented before she could bite back the comment. It had bright lilac flowers with dazzling yellow. She glanced over, hesitating.

“ _Atropa_ _belladonna_ , yes.”

“Such an adequately named plant. There’s a simple, and somehow certain beauty to it.”

“Her beauty is quite deceiving, I find.” Antonio glanced across her face. “Such sweet fruit. Unfortunate for the consumer, as one taste and you won't hardly remember your own name.”

A chill ran up her spine.

Of course, she already knew that. Being a plant buff and a geneticist, her two interests had converged onto the plant at one time. The antidote had been what she’d been interested in; Physostigmine, the focus of her dissertation, worked as a cure against the natural poison of the plant.

She squinted, her mind running away from her at the thoughts of work. Ideas were simmering as the scientist in her brain kicked into overdrive.

”Gabriel—“ Moira started, no doubt feeling the same sense of panic. Had Antonio caught on?

“It’s not time for a _botany_ lesson, Haugen,” Reyes snapped in her ear.

His voice jarred her back to reality. Antonio was studying her with keen interest. Despite the scrutinizing stare, she kept her head up, looking innocent. “It’s not a common plant to keep. Interesting that you choose to.” She ignored her commander, attempting to dig further.

Antonio smiled and extended his arm. He didn’t intend to continue the conversation. 

As much as she would have rather died, she held onto his elbow once more. At the edge of the courtyard, he helped her up a few stone steps, and she thanked him.

They’d reached his office, she realized, as he opened a glass door for her. It boasted a great view of the garden from the south, and the lagoon to the north.

“Your house must have cost a fortune, Antonio.” She stepped to the northern windows. “You have waterfront views all around.”

“It’s hard to escape in Venice, I’m afraid.”

Removing his suit jacket, he folded it and laid it across the desk. “Forgive me— I must disappear for a moment. I shall return shortly. Please,” he gestured to the room. There was a small bar against the wall. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Like hell she was gonna accept a drink.

Clover nodded to be polite, though, and watched him disappear through a side door with a soft ‘click’.

As soon as he left the room, she spread the jacket open and began to search through the inside pockets. It was lined with fine Italian silk— _ugh._ Of course it was.

Her fingers met an object behind the left lapel. Retrieving it, she was delighted by the finding.

Swiftly, she tucked the device into the top of her dress, pushing it down far enough it wouldn’t be noticed. Then, she folded the jacket back in half, smoothing any wrinkles.

The door behind her began to open, and she forced herself to look busy with his business cards. She took one, glancing over it but not _actually_ reading the printed words.

“Antonio,” she wheeled around, not expecting the electronic voice. “I need to speak with— _oh?_ ”

The omnic stopped, straightening up. He had recoiled slightly, hand brought up to adjust his tie. “You’re not Antonio. My apologies.”

She studied him, trying to take in his features. Her eyes honed in on his jacket, noting a gold pin there. It was a logo, but she couldn’t place it. She tried to remember it for later.

“Who the hell is that?” Jesse muttered in her ear. “Wish we had a cam feed—“

Genji muttered for him to be quiet before he obscured the call.

“It’s alright.” She tucked the business card into her bodice. She glanced to the side as Antonio returned from the other door. “Am I intruding?”

“No, _signorina_ ,” he sighed, crossing the room back to her. “It appears an old friend is here to meet with me. Maximilian, I was not expecting your arrival this evening.” He sounded put out and as though he were trying to keep his composure.

“Well, I have news you may want to hear of. In _private,_ I’m afraid.” The omnic turned towards her slightly. There was no emotion on his face plate and it unsettled her. Other omnics had never bothered her— something about this one, however, left her skin crawling.

”I am busy.”

”This is regarding the... _Numbani_ situation.”

His demeanor shifted at that. What was in Numbani?

“If you’ll wait,” Antonio motioned to the door he had just returned through. “I’ll see you in a moment. What kind of host would I be to blatantly disregard my company?”

He nodded before making his way across the study. His optics caught her eye as he brushed past, and she had a feeling he was trying to pick her apart. The interaction was no more than a moment before he was continuing on, door clicking quietly behind him.

Antonio sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I apologize for the intrusion. I must see to this.” He started to reach for his blazer, to pull it back on, and Clover nearly panicked.

She slipped her arms around him, forcing a smile. “It’s alright. I enjoyed your party, Mr. Bartalotti.”

He half turned towards her, his own smile playing on his lips. His fingers fell from the jacket as he turned towards her properly. “Well— I’m glad you had an entertaining evening. I hope it was everything you had expected.”

“More than you know.”

“I apologize I could not entertain you further. However, I am afraid this matter can not wait.” He started to pull away, but Clover held him firmly. She didn’t want to run the risk of her thievery being known.

Men were easy to distract, right? She sure hoped so, or this wasn’t going to be worth it.

Clover leaned up and— with great internalized reluctance,— pressed her lips to his. The action caugh Antonio off guard. There was a pause before he started to kiss back, and Clover tried to detach herself from the situation as far as mentally possible.

It felt like an eternity before she pulled away. Her ears were ringing uncomfortably, her fingertips felt like static. She mustered the strength for another smile as her hand ran down the front of his suit. “Have a good evening, Antonio.”  
  
Clover turned and made her way for the door. She was stopped as he called out across the room.

“Will I see you again, _belladonna?_ ”

She glanced over her shoulder. He was still leaning against the desk, a touch dazed, studying her. She smiled, head tilting apologetically. “Don’t press your luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clover’s gonna wash her mouth out with bleach


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw// gun violence, death, blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not very good at action scenes so 😔🤝 baby action scene

Clover thanked the omnics at the door with a curt nod on her way out. Gathering her skirt, she made her way down the steps as quickly as humanly possible without slamming straight into the aged cobblestone below.

Reyes’ voice returned in her ear. “Did you get anything?”

Jesse snorted before she could respond. “Oh, she got somethin’, alri— _Ouch!”_

He huffed into the headset. She could only assume he got a very bony jab in the ribs from Moira, the way he sounded winded. Lethal weapons, really, her arms. Clover had caught one in the middle of the night and it’d jarred her awake.

Genji’s scolding came through. “You deserved that one.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sidin’ with her! I thought you loved me…”

Clover rolled her eyes. “I found a phone,” she answered, cutting them off. “Just… that felt _too_ quick. There’s no way that was supposed to be that easy, right?”

“Just keep an eye out.” Gaberiel’s avoidance of an answer worried her. “ETA?”

“Probably about twenty minutes.” Clover scowled as she stumbled on the uneven ground. She would have been faster barefoot. “My feet are _killing_ me.”

The group went back to bickering in her ear. Clover blocked them out, making her way through unmarked side streets and alleyways to the rendezvous point. Her vision felt blocked in by the mask. For a brief moment she wished she had her glasses— contacts always felt too blurred. Frustrated with her mask, she ripped it off and opted to carry it.

She was half a mile away when the cell phone chimed and startled the daylights out of her. Clover fished around in her top to retrieve the phone. She scowled at the gross texture her skin left on the screen, wiped it off, and then looked at it properly.

The device began vibrating intermittently in her hand, letting out an audible ping. After nearly fumbling it to the street, she tried to get it to shut up. The crew was still bantering in her ear, Moira having returned to scolding Jesse for his ’tasteless humor’ and ’disgusting comments‘.

“Uh, Gabe,” she breathed, interrupting all of them. Her voice was high with restrained panic. “I don’t—? I think it's a burner. They’re definitely tracking it.”

There was ten seconds of dead air between them. For a moment, she began to panic, worrying that the connection had been severed. Then, all four voices at once.

“Well don’t hold onto it!” Jesse snapped. “Toss it!”

“No! Do _not_ listen to McCree, he’s not your boss! Do you know how much incriminating—?”

“ _Amadán!_ I told you something would happen, Gabriel!”

“It’s not worth it!”

Clover’s breathing was picking up speed, and she was having a hard time picking apart their arguing. The longer they bantered, the closer together the pings became, and the more nervous she got.

So, did the only logical thing she knew to do.

Shards of glass and bits of hardware flew as she drove her heel through the device. Something in the circuitry popped a few times before it fizzled out. For good measure, she scooped up the busted cell phone and dumped it in a nearby trash can.

Couldn’t track her if it was broken, right?

“ _Clover?!_ ”

She’d never heard Moira so panicked— not even when she’d knocked her out in the lab. The sound of her demolishing the device must have been picked up by the wire.

“I’m fine. You all wouldn't shut up, so I broke it.”

“You _what?!”_ Gabriel, Jesse and Moira exclaimed in unison.

Clover examined a small chip she kept from the wreckage. “I got the SIM card, though. Think you can work with that?”

This time, Genji spoke before they could put their teeth back to each other’s throats. “How far away are you? 

“Half a mile. I think I should be okay—“

Clover rounded a corner, spotting a trio of men patrolling the courtyard. She only recognized them by the cold, unfeeling blankness of their red helmets. In their meetings, she’d seen image after image of Talon agents.

She backed into the shadows slowly so as to not draw attention.

“I lied— Gonna need a little bit of help.”

She could hear Moira no doubt swearing in her ear, followed by the faint sound of the dropship door being deployed. “Stay out of sight. I’m coming for you.”

“ _We’re_ coming for you,” Reyes corrected. “Moira, you don’t— _get back here!_ We move as a _team_!”

The audio cut out as he undoubtedly chased after her.

Responding would have been suicidal. Crouching behind a tall concrete planter was her best hiding spot, as one of the three had made their way around towards her alley. If she so much as moved, she’d likely draw their attention.

Her hand touched the pistol strapped at her thigh to ensure it was still there. The metal, warned by her flesh, bit into her skin due to the cramped angle she was crouched in.

One of the agents was showing a photo— her, judging by the colors on the screen,— to passing partygoers. The group all shook their heads and were allowed to move on. _God damn it…_ She could double back the way she came, and risk running into more. Moving through the courtyard, however, was not an option.

From her dark corner, she cautiously watched them mill around the plaza. One began to wander too close and she pulled her weapon free of it’s holster as she crept further back.

She couldn’t see where he went from her position. She noticed the other two continued North and West respectively, down different alleys. The third had stayed behind— went South, perhaps, looking for her.

There were no footsteps. She couldn’t hear any more of their conversation, nor any movement in the areas. Cautiously, she poked her head around the corner.

There was a blur of movement before the accompanying pain sent stars shooting across her vision and her weapon skidding across the stones.

Clover fell back with a shout, her hands shredding as she herself on the bricks. The tail end of his rifle had caught her in the cheek.

When she looked up, she was staring straight down the end of his gun. He started to say something in Italian, and it sounded _very_ angry and _very_ condescending.

There was a whooshing sound, like a vacuum caving in on itself, and a familiar dark mass behind the man. He wheeled around but found himself seizing up as life was drawn from his body. His knees gave away, and he collapsed in a heap between them.

Moira clenched her fist, her biotic device shutting itself off. She extended her other hand to Clover. “Hurry. The others are tending to his friends, and I’m afraid we don’t have long.”

She glanced at the masked figure, unnervingly still, before glancing up to Moira again. Mismatched eyes widened slightly as her eyebrows raised and she moved her hand closer. 

Clover accepted, and the woman helped her to her feet. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured, scooping up her weapon. A touch shaken, but nothing that wasn’t manageable. Moira started to examine her hands but she jerked away. “Let’s go— we can worry about it later.”

Moira grabbed her arm firmly as she tried to walk away. “Here—”

She had her open her palms. Her own left palm hovered over her hands, applying a thin layer of healing solution to the abrasion. “That should help until I can properly treat them. Let’s move.”

The two moved briskly. Clover kept her weapon pointed down and away from either of them. At least she had learned _something_ useful from Jesse.

They rounded another corner and caught the last moments of Gabriel choking out the second agent. The agent fell at his feet, unmoving as well.

Clover swallowed thickly and kept moving. The group converged as Jesse and Genji returned from separate areas. 

“How many saw you?” Gaberiel interrogated.

“There were three,” she glanced behind her before looking forward again. “Only one saw me.”

“He’s no longer an issue,” Moira assured. The nonchalance with which she said it unsettled Clover. As though putting a human down were _natural_. “Might I suggest we leave now, _Commander?_ Before the whole city wakes up?”

Gabriel scowled at her. “Yeah— I’ve got a few choice words for you when we get back, O’Deorain.”

“Lovely, I look forward to it,” she glared.

They began to move, Gabriel scolding a silent Moira as Genji and Jesse followed behind. Clover began to follow, but froze as she caught movement in the edge of her vision.

It moved between her and the rest of the group. She caught the sound of a clip sliding into place.

A single shot rang through the plaza.

As the sound echoed off the buildings and into the Venice night, four members of Blackwatch whipped around, weapons drawn, ready once more.

However, what they were met with was the last, unaccounted-for Talon agent, standing with his own gun drawn. The rifle slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. He swayed for a moment before his body pitched forward. 

Fresh blood began to feather out from the hole in his back. It spilled to the street below, outlining his twitching form. Several yards behind where he’d been standing, Clover stood, a recharging pulse pistol in her hands. She was frozen in place, her eyes on the agent’s body.

They couldn’t focus as her partner dissolved into a miasma, closing the distance between them. They were trained on the wound she’d inflicted, watching rivers of blood seep into vintage cobblestone.

Moira solidified and cautiously placed one hand on the top of the pistol, the other taking her shoulder firmly. 

Clover’s gaze went past her, back to the man she’d shot. Her expression rivaled that of the lab rabbits—terror reflected in wide hazel eyes.

Moira was talking. Urging her to move, undoubtedly, but the words fell on deaf ears.

“It’s alright,” Moira assured her, the words finally cutting through the ringing. Her voice was low. “We need to go now, Clover, before others arrive. _Please_.”

Managing to coax the pistol from Clover’s trembling fingers, Moira blindly passed it off to Jesse. She made sure to block her view of the Talon member as she guided her towards the ship. The hem of her dress trailed through a puddle of crimson as she stepped too close.

Her head felt stuffed with cotton, and she had no idea what Gabriel was saying as they boarded the ship.

Clover glanced back. Jesse and Genji hovered over the man, who was beginning to come around, attempting to crawl away. He groped for his weapon, which Genji kicked aside as his fingers slipped from the metal. He was speaking in Italian— pleading, she realized, by the tone in his voice. McCree spun the barrel of his revolver before leveling it to the figure below him.

Moira turned her head forward once more. 

Behind them, a second gunshot echoed through the Venice night.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter!

Clover gazed out the window at the smattering of lights below. Her eyes saw them, but her thoughts were elsewhere. It would be another forty minutes or so before they returned to Rome judging by the clock.

Reyes and McCree were bickering in the cockpit, but their arguments were quiet enough that they were drowned out by the hum of the ship. Genji was minding his own business on the other side of the cabin with a gaming device and earbuds.

How could he sit there so casually after what had happened?

Clover’s eyes pulled away from Genji as his eyes flicked up towards her. No good came from staring. 

Absently, she pulled Moira’s suit jacket tighter around her shoulders. The woman had pulled it from her backup outfit as soon as they were out of the city.

Moira returned, sitting by Clover. She had shed most of her gear and opted instead to spot the altered Valkyrie suit below. Her beret had been cast off to the table, right into the card game she had assumed Jesse and Genji had picked up while she was working. Normally, Clover would have been inclined to tackle her as soon as she saw her in such a state, but found she wasn’t in a very enthusiastic mood. 

Instead of speaking, she raised a damp washcloth and began to care for her. Sweat and makeup began to come away onto the fabric, and with it some of the tension she carried.

“Are you alright?” Moira finally probed as she noticed her partner’s shoulders beginning to relax.

Clover didn't respond immediately. 

All things considered she _was_ fine. She was alive, everyone around her was alive.

She had shot someone—someone who _deserved it,_ anyway. He was dead. Several other Talon agents were dead. All because… what? She stole a _cellphone?_ She shouldn’t have been so careless. Were the deaths justified?

The empathetic thoughts wouldn’t go away. What if they were just normal people? What if they had families? What if they had partners, kids? The questions clouded her thoughts, riddling her with guilt.

Despite them, she knew… she knew where he’d been aiming, and she’d made a split second decision.

No one would take Moira from her. 

“Yes,” she eventually decided.

As Gabriel had said— the goal was to live another day. To see the sun rise, again and again. The world would continue to revolve. They were all alive and that was, at the end of the day, the main priority.

She had done her job. She had held her ground. She was a Blackwatch agent, she deserved to be there.

Moira made a low noise in her throat, as though she wanted to push it, but decided better.

She trailed the cloth down, towards her chin. She brushed her thumb against Clover’s lips, continuing to be gentle.

Leaning in, she gave a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. Clover jerked her head away as she went for a proper kiss.

Taking the edge of the rag, Clover began to scrub at her lips until the abrasive cloth began to sting against raw skin. Moira seized her hand, forcing her to stop. “ _Don’t._ ”

She didn’t want to remember the feel of Antonio’s lips, and wanted every single one of her cells that had been in contact with him gone.

“I never want to kiss a man again,” she spat, disgusted. She pretended not to catch the smirk at the edge of Genji’s jaw plate.

Moira _almost_ smiled, but didn’t. It wasn’t the time. “I believe that makes two of us.” When she leaned in again, Clover didn’t pull away. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” She whispered against her lips. The thought of laying in her bed alone was… melancholy. She couldn’t stand to be left alone with her thoughts. If she were, she’d pick them apart over and over and drive herself insane.

With a frown Moira set the washcloth aside. Gently, she grabbed her chin with her thumb and forefinger, tilting her head to examine her. “I’m afraid not— I have a sneaking suspicion your zygoma is fractured.” She brushed her thumb over the area and Clover jerked back once more, that time in pain. “You’re going straight to the med ward. We’ll see about staying over _after_.”

Her expression tightened. “I’m fine— I’m still talking, aren’t I?”

“And as stubborn as ever, bunny.”

Clover sighed, shoulders sagging. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, spray some of your healing goo on it? It helped my hands.” She showed her how the mist had helped— the abrasions no longer stung, but her hands felt filthy. For unrelated reasons, though.

The idea drew the faintest smile from Moira. “Without contact to the damage, it’s useless, I’m afraid. Good for the scrape, but not so much for the bone damage. I refuse to mar such a beautiful face to access it.” Her fingers trailed down her cheek, and despite her words, Clover could have sworn she was thinking about cutting her open with the way she was examining the site.

Closing her eyes, Clover settled against her as she began to run her fingers through her tousled hair. She was tired, and all she wanted was to take an ice cold shower, slide between Moira’s sheets, settle between those long arms and _sleep._

“I’ve had Gabriel call ahead. Dr. Ziegler is flying in to check on you.”

Her eyes snapped back open.

“I can’t see literally _any other doctor?_ ”

Moira tilted her chin up, and her eyes tightened at the pain. “Angela is the best in her field, Clover, and I refuse to have anyone less take care of you.” She frowned, then, at Clover’s evident displeasure. “Is there an issue?”

Clover huffed, leaning back against her. Genji glanced up at them and made to leave. He disappeared towards the front of the ship to linger around Jesse and Gabriel.

“Don’t you think it’s… a bit _odd,_ I suppose, having your ex treat me?”

Moira tilted her head, considering it. She shrugged slightly and pushed her hair back. “How does it make _you_ feel? If you’re adamant, I’ll apologize for wasting her time and have someone else see you.”

She frowned at that. Angela was already on her way, so it _would_ be rude to waste her time. She was a very capable woman and made headway in her own field. Rejecting her treatment over something so callow was disrespectful.

“It just feels a little weird,” she confided, voice quiet. “Knowing you two were together— It feels _weird,_ Moira. She’s been nice to me, but I can’t look at her the same. Aren’t the exes, like, supposed to hate the new girlfriend? Isn’t that how that works?”

Moira drew her nails across Clover’s scalp. “I see,” she murmured. “I don’t believe anyone could bring themselves to hate you, _mo stór,_ but won’t do it again if it makes you anxious. My apologies.” She withdrew her long fingers from her hair. “I figured I would called in a favor.”

Clover sighed through her nose, letting her eyes fall shut. “Yeah, next time you want to do a favor for me? Don’t.”

Moira tensed behind her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware it was an issue?” It came out more as a question.

She glanced out the window once more, staring into the void below. They were over the countryside now. “Last time you called in a favor, it was with Gabe to get me transferred here. As much as I appreciate it, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and getting what I want.” She looked away from the window as her vertigo began to creep up. “I don’t… I don’t want to feel indebted. I can pull my own.”

“Is that what this is about, then? Feeling as though you owe me something?” She tilted Clover’s chin up again. “You don’t owe me anything, Clover. Your presence in my life is _enough_.”

Clover wavered in her headstrong approach. Nodding, she gave up and sank against her once more. “If you say so. Just… talk to me about it next time you want to help unprovoked, okay?”

“Alright.” It didn’t sound alright. Nevertheless, Moira pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

She tried her best to grow comfortable. Something dug into her chest, and she hissed at the sudden sharp pain.

Moira released her, but tilted her head curiously as she began to dig around in her bodice. “Lose something?” There was a humored quip to her voice.

Clover retrieved the forgotten business card. Ah, yes, Antonio.

She frowned and flipped it over, finally taking the time to properly inspect it. It was willfully vague— name, contact number, email. The usual. It didn’t even say what he _did_.

“ _Ah.”_ She flicked the cardstock. “He’s labeled as _Giordani_ here. You think I called him the wrong name and tipped him off?”

“It’s a possibility. Honestly— it could have been a number of things.” Moira took the card from her and held it up to the light. “We’ll keep this. See what we can learn.” She handed it back. “Who was the second that entered the office?”

Clover shrugged. “An omnic. Looked expensive, whoever he was.” She leaned forward and started to dig through snacks and nick knacks for a pen. Finding one, she hastily scrawled down the insignia from memory. “He was wearing a pin that looked like this.” She tapped the card. “Mean anything to you?”

Moira pulled it closer. “Mm… I can’t say it does.” She took it and tucked it back into Clover’s top, causing the shorter woman to roll her eyes. “Hold onto it for now. We’ll pass it along to Gérard and see if one of his connections can work on a lead.”

She nodded, her gaze distant. The Numbani situation... she wondered what was happening down south.

Just how deep had Talon’s roots had taken hold?

When they returned to base, the first thing Clover did was change, despite her partner’s protests. She didn’t want to sit around in a bloodied dress while waiting for the doctor. Five minutes would not send her spiraling into an life-threatening infection.

She had pulled on the spare band t-shirt and leggings she kept in her locker down in the training bay. Moira had started to offer to have the gown dry cleaned, but Clover pointedly shoved it in a trash can. 

Moira simply let her.

Clover kept her suit jacket on, though. It was warm, but not suffocatingly so.

“Still alright?” She inquired, bending to her height in the medbay. She examined her face again, her eyebrows furrowing in concern as she examined the bruising and swelling that had rapidly formed.

“You asked me that five minutes ago,” she grumbled, her eyes slipping to Moira’s lips. The woman caught her wandering gaze and moved in.

“Just making sure,” she murmured between them.

Moira was the first to pull away when they heard footsteps approaching. She lingered, though, their faces close together as she brushed her thumb against the corner of Clover’s lips. A touch of mauve lipstick came away on the pad of her finger.

When the curtain was opened, and the doctor entered, Moira pulled away fully and stood.

Angela’s eyes darted between the two of them. Clover was glancing away, her face hot, and nervously gripping the pleather edge of the exam table. Moira was hovering protectively.

“Angela.”

“Moira.”

 _Clover_ , she bit her tongue, withholding the snide comment.

Angela looked to her and extended a hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Clover, circumstances aside.” Clover accepted the handshake and was startled by how gentle her touch was. She’d grown used to heavy handed gestures from her company.

How had so much changed in only a few months?

“It’s nice to see you, as well. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here over something so _trivial._ ”

Moira scoffed. “This is hardly trivial, Clover.”

“It’s alright,” Angela frowned, reaching out and touching her face. She tilted it this way and that to take in the extent of the damage. “Mm… you’re going to need a few scans. How’s your pain?”

Her eyes slid closed as the exhaustion began to set in. “Oh, you know— No worse than someone bashing my face in.”

Angela sighed and nodded. “Understood. I’ll be back shortly to grab you for a few tests, then. I’ll grab something to ease the pain.”

At least the x-rays were the easy part, even if they made her uncomfortable. She hated being a patient— being stuck doing _nothing_ as people picked her medical flaws apart. It was dreadful.

Sitting still and biting on a guard, unable to speak as a radiologist took photos of her skull, should have at the very least given her time to collect her thoughts. Instead, it did nothing but scatter them.

How was one supposed to feel after such an evening? Genji had seemed unbothered, as had Gabe, Jesse and even Moira. The other woman had only held concern for her since seeing her injured. It wasn’t life threatening and it hadn’t even ruptured a blood vessel in her eye— something Angela was surprised by. Apparently she should have looked worse than she did if she did have a fracture.

She almost scowled but thought better, doing her best to remain still for the test. Her thoughts drifted back to her team.

Had any of them given a second though to the nature of their job?

Was she weak for feeling affected?

She closed her eyes, but she could still see life itself, turned a sinister shade of purple, as it was siphoned from the body. She could still feel the recoil of a familiar pulse pistol in her hands as she held her ground and aimed down the sights. She could still smell the sharp, metallic blood as it soaked into the antique cobblestone. 

Eyes opening, she followed the slow movement of the machine as it revolved around her head. Anything to serve as a viable distraction she would take.

She let her thoughts wander to work, as she found they did when she wanted to avoid thinking about the grittiness of life for a while. It was easier to step back and observe, from a clinical point of view, life itself.

Her mind had started working in overtime in the garden. Atropine and physostigmine… a poison and an antidote, respectfully. One could easily become the other given the wrong circumstances.

She’d have to start pulling old comparative study papers, she realized. She wanted to sit down and see for herself just how the chemical worked with the synaptic cleft between neurons, how it slid between the smallest space imaginable and—

“All done!” The technician's cheerful voice startled her. Clover grunted as she caught her teeth on the guard, marginally more careful as she pulled away.

“Let’s get you back to the medbay, alright? Dr. Ziegler will be in soon.” The woman beamed.

There weren’t many other patients to see to, but that didn’t stop Angela from being a busy woman in high demand. From what Clover had gathered, half the damn building wanted to talk to her. She’d met with Gabe, performed a full exam with Genji, and caught up with Jesse all before Clover had returned from her test. It was another twenty minutes before she was actually seen.

The curtain was ripped open, Moira leaning in She craned her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of her films. “How bad is it?”

With a sharp sigh, Angela turned around and yanked the curtain back into place, forcing Moira out. “There is this little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality, Moira. I _know_ you’re aware of it. If you can’t give us privacy, I’m gonna have to ask you to wait _outside._ ”

She could hear Moira’s boots clicking against the floor as she paced away once more.

Clover closed her eyes as Angela’s fingers, soft and slim, touched across her features. They felt entirely different from Moira’s— short, soft. “Was she like that with you?”

“Hmm?”

“Overprotective.” Her eyes cracked open, studying her. “Kept you from making your own choices?”

Angela forced a thin smile. “At times. She won’t admit it, but she worries about others as much as they worry about her.”

Clover closed her eyes again, humming in acknowledgement. “She likes to perform favors, evidently. Or at least ask for them.”

Angela touched her chin, and Clover barely felt her fingertips. It was only slight pressure as she tilted her head again. “I was going to ask how a kind girl like you ended up in Blackwatch of all places, but I believe I already know the answer, then.” 

She opened her eyes again, the light draining from them. “Well, the people are more accepting, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Is that what she calls it, sending you out into a situation that leaves you with a broken zygoma?”

“Moira’s not my commander. She was actually vehemently _against_ the idea, but it wasn’t her decision to make.” Clover eyed her warily. “You say that like you’re _not_ a combat medic.”

The two fell into a tense silence. The woman in question poked her head back in, having been eavesdropping. “Did you need me—?”

Angela yanked the curtain shut in her face. “ _Waiting room_. Don’t make me call someone.”

She scoffed, and Clover could still see her shadow on the ground. After a moment, she muttered something about _Gabriel_ before walking away for good. No doubt she was off to get scolded by him as well.

“The good news is that you won’t need surgery,” Angela assured her. “Everything is where it should be. It _is_ broken, I’m afraid, but you’re quite lucky it’s only a minor fracture. No fragmenting, even. I can administer a local shot of nanites to boost the repair process.”

Clover sighed in relief. At least she walked away with what could be considered the easiest injury.

“While I have you here, though, I’d like to discuss something from your chart.”

She tried to think of what Angela could have possibly given a damn about. She came up blank. “Yes?”

“I noticed you have an extensive family history of Alzhimer’s.”

Her ears started ringing again. The question came out of left field— she didn’t consider Angela to be qualified enough to talk to her about her life’s work. “I _do_. How is that of any relevance to you?”

She looked at her apologetically. “It’s not my field, but I noticed you haven’t had a screening. If you’d like I can have one done.”

Clover looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “Beat you to it. I’m fine, thanks for the concern.”

“It’s not documented?” She seemed confused.

“Then maybe it’s none of your business, doctor.” Clover forced a thin smile. “I’m a neurogeneticist. That’s _my_ field.”

Angela narrowed her eyes, searching her face. “Who ran the test?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Was it Moira?”

Her restraint gave, and her frustrations cameroaring out. “Why are you so adamant on digging into my life, Dr. Ziegler? You’re not here to act as my physician.”

“No,” She agreed, drawing gloves on. “But while I’m treating you, I am your doctor, at least for a few minutes.” The latex snapped into place, punctuating her words. “In my _professional opinion,_ you should have a second test done, with an unbiased mediator.”

The noise came out before she could stop herself. Clover started laughing in her face, louder than she should have. “You think _you’re_ unbiased when it comes to Moira? Please, don’t flatter yourself.”

She noticed how she bit her tongue at the remark.

“Why is James under the assumption that you’re in Gibraltar?” A change in subject, then. She was avoiding the elephant in the room. 

Or perhaps skillfully working her way towards it.

“You should know as well as I do, doctor, that Brackley has the largest mouth this side of the equator.” Clover glanced away as she began to apply a nanite serum to her cheekbone. Her muscles twitched under her fingers as she tried to ignore the stinging. “If he knew about Blackwatch, I guarantee you the whole world would.”

Not entirely untrue. He was a gossip, and _painfully_ so. The less James knew about her life at that point, the better. He wasn’t her friend.

Angela sighed, applying a butterfly closure. “I believe you. I just… wish, perhaps, that you would have stayed with Overwatch. You have no business—“

“I’m afraid anything I do is none of yours.” Hazel eyes met blue, steeled. “Now, I’d like to go home some time tonight, doctor, and see my cat. I’ve had a bitch of a day.”

Those blue eyes, full of pity, crossed her face. Angela sighed and continued about her treatment. She retrieved a syringe of nanites from the tray beside her and turned Clover’s bead to the side. “You will always have a place in Overwatch, should you return to us, Dr. Haugen. I believe you would get along quite well with Winston.”

Clover had to bite back a scowl at the thought. She wouldn’t admit it, not in front of his apparent _friend,_ but the gorilla terrified her.

She was no longer in the mood to play nice. She wasn’t going to sit by and play up the pleasantries any longer. “Funny how you all deem the lunar experimentations appropriate, but nothing Moira does is ever _good enough_.”

Angela hesitated. “You should know better than any other that there are rules and regulations—”

Clover clenched her teeth and tried to ignore the pain that it brought. “We follow each and every one of them, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Is that so?” She pressed the needle into her, and Clover seized up. It felt like an eternity as the contents were emptied into her skin. In reality, it was over in a heartbeat.

“What about when she decided to test on herself, hmm? Did you act in accordance then, or was it only _after_ she gave herself nerve damage that you decided to play it safe?”

Clover stood up. She was level with the woman, able to stare her straight in the eye without having to look up or down. “That was out of my hands, nor did I play a part in her decision.”

Angela glared. “If you cared about her, you would have stopped her.”

Clover leaned in, her lips curling back, exposing her teeth in a sneer. “I _did_.” She gave her a once-over, still scowling. “I care about her a hell of a lot more than you ever did.”

Angela’s expression was guarded. “Because you allow her to run rampant with her experiments?”

“ _Because I don’t see her as a monster that lacks restraint.”_

She pointedly jerked Moira’s suit jacket back on. _Mine, not yours._ “Do you think I wanna watch her sit there and hurt herself? Do you think I _enjoy_ that?” Clover shook her head, barking out a sharp laugh. “ _Fuck it—_ did _you?”_

Angela tightened her hold on Clover’s chart, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re a very intelligent woman, Dr. Haugen,” she started, attempting to keep her voice level. “I merely wish to see that you don’t repeat my mistakes.” It wasn’t an answer, and it was only fuel to feed Clover's growing ire.

Clover gave her a forced, strained smile. “Then I’ll be sure to make my own.” 

The woman touched her arm gently, causing Clover to pause in her exit. She shot a glare over her shoulder, but it faltered at her forlorn expression. 

“Some people are hard to love, Clover.” She frowned. “Moira is one of them. You will get hurt.”

The words nearly sent Clover over the edge. She shrugged her shoulder free of the woman’s touch. “Maybe you just didn’t try hard enough,” she spat. 

Turning on her heel, she stormed from the med ward.  
  


The entire walk back to their apartment complex was dead quiet. Moira had looked irate after her conversation with Gabriel, but seemed to forget about her own irritations upon seeing how furious Clover was.

She had tried to pry, but Clover shook her head and kept walking.

When they reached their doorsteps, they parted and Clover began to unlock her own door.

“I thought you wanted to stay with me tonight.”

Clover faltered in her movements. “Ah… shit, I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I forgot. I kind of… I kind of just want to be alone tonight, if that’s alright.”

“I understand.” Still, she sounded a touch dejected. “Is it because of me?”

“No.” It was the truth— Moira hadn’t done anything wrong. “You didn’t do anything, I promise. Angela pissed me off. Really, I don’t know what you saw in her.”

“What did she say to you?”

Eyes closed, Clover took in a deep breath to compose her temper. She pulled the key from the lock on the exhale. “She offer to run a screening for Alzhimer’s, if you must know. She wasn’t thrilled about you having done it for me.”

“Oh?” She could hear the frown in her voice. “Well? Did you accept her offer?”

Clover scoffed. “Of course not. You wouldn’t lie to me.”

Silence fell between them.

Slowly, she half turned towards her partner “... would you?”

Again, she wasn’t met with a reply. She could hear Moira fiddling with her own keys, unlocking her front door and opening it. She could hear Circuit milling about in her own apartment waiting for her.

Clover gripped the door handle, her knuckles turning white from the effort. “Just tell me what the results said, Moira.”

For several long moments, all she could hear was the blood pounding around her head. She was worried Moira wasn’t going to respond. The thought worried her sick— if Moira didn’t respond, then that meant Angela was right.

That would have meant that Moira had lied to her. She would have been lying the whole time.

Angela couldn’t be right. She couldn’t be.

“I didn’t find any anomalies, Clover,” she responded gently. “I already told you that.”

Clover nodded, throwing her front door open. “That’s what I thought. _Fuck her_ if she thinks she can get in my face and call you a _fucking liar_.”

She caught Moira’s sigh. “Darling, I have _told you._ You do not have to defend me—“

She choked on her words as Clover wheeled around in the threshold. She must have looked more pissed than she’d intended.

“I will _not_ stand by and let someone slander you.” She pursed her lips, trying to keep her composure before she spat more vitriol about the _good doctor_. 

“You are my _girlfriend_ , Moira O’Deorain, and I won’t sit by idly while others blatantly disrespect you, your name, or your work. You are _better_ than them. If you won’t speak up on it, I will.”

Clover glanced away, jaw clenched. Her face was starting to hurt again from the tension. Moira didn’t speak, she just stood there and _stared._ Clover couldn’t decipher the emotion written across her features and it frustrated her even more.

Nervously, she flexed her fingers and forced a curt nod. “Goodnight, Moira.”

She slammed the door behind her before she could say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright!! So that’s chapter 39!!! I may be moving into a bit of a hiatus for a couple of weeks, as we’re about 65-75% of the way thru this story, and I need a bit of time to recharge. As always, please drop a comment if you’re feeling it :) <3


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me; hiatus?  
> Also me; no... no we gotta get to a round number

Clover had caught very little sleep the night before— Many hours were spent tossing and turning, writhing in the sheets as rest alluded her. Thoughts of blood and expiry had plagued her for hours on end. Even Circuit had given her what could be deemed a forlorn look as he powered down at her side.

Routines were easy. Her body was running on autopilot, milling about the apartment and getting ready for the day. A brisk shower followed by a rushed, loosely defined ‘breakfast’ saw her on her way to work.

Gabe left her to her own devices that morning. She was thankful as he didn’t try to make small talk and instead let her pass them on their run. Afterwards, the training bots that morning hadn't stood a chance. She’d left them sliced in half with a quick flick of her polearm, and hadn’t given a second thought as to whether or not it was in the budget to buy more.

She hadn’t given herself a moment to breathe. Her face hurt like hell, but it looked significantly better in the daytime than it had initially. At least Ziegler’s work was useful, even if she had been tempted to bounce the woman’s head off the ground.

She never felt violent, not like that, but something about the way the woman spoke about Moira had set her teeth on edge.

Clover arrived at the lab much earlier than she would have liked as training was wrapped up for the morning. Work was _work._ It was a distraction, and at least marginally more useful than parading around in a dress playing pretend.

After an hour— two, she realized, glancing at her phone as she skipped a song that felt too slow, she caught familiar movement in her peripheral. 

Moira set a mug down in front of her— only one, she realized, and it wasn’t the one Moira typically brought her. It served as a warning that she was present before the woman was pulling one of her earbuds out. The action paused the audio that had been threatening to blow out her eardrums.

“I’m surprised you’re here.”

Clover sighed, clicking her pen a few times. The notes before her were riddled with blue and red ink, annotations in both Dutch and English taking up a majority of the white space. “Yes, Moira. We _do_ have day jobs.”

She tried to take the device back, only for Moira to hold it out of her reach. “You’re being childish,” she huffed. “Can I _please_ have that back? I’m _working_.”

Moira peered down at the paperwork. She was mulling over different articles on the use of atropine and physostigmine in early trials. None were particularly _recent,_ only as soon as the 20’s. Some went as far back as the 90’s.

She glanced back at her. “I meant that I had hoped you would have taken time for yourself.”

“Do you ever take time for _you?_ ” The question came out more abrasive than she’d intended. Clover frowned, turning forward once more and leaning over the papers. “I’m _fine._ ”

“I like to think I know you, darling, and I don’t believe this is fine.” She flicked open the charging case for the earbuds and slid it back in. “If you don’t want to talk to me, and find you’re having trouble, there are… _others_ you can talk to—”

Clover buried her face in one of her hands, pushing her glasses to her hairline. “Do _you_ go to therapy after you shoot people? Do any of you?”

Moira sighed, leaning against the desk. “I find guns barbaric, personally, and a cheap method of incapacitation.”

Clover held up a hand. “I’m not... even going to _acknowledge_ how messed up that statement was,” she sighed. “Can you turn the smart-ass off for _one moment_ and give me a straight answer?”

She frowned, her thin lips twitching down. “ _No,”_ she complied. “I despise therapists. Gabriel does as well, but you didn’t hear that from me. I’m afraid I can not comment on Jesse, though I am sure Angela likely required therapy for Genji after she rebuilt him. She tried to get me to go enough...”

“That’s what I thought,” Clover nodded, fixing her glasses. “I’m fine, I _don’t_ want to talk about it, and I’d be a lot better if you’d stop harping on me.”

The ginger relented. She let her fingers trail through Clover’s ponytail before stepping away. She began to tug her lab coat on, rolling up the sleeves as she started across the lab. “Since you’re here, I’d like to talk about next weekend.”

Clover closed her eyes, absently drumming her pen on the counter top. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna try and take me shopping again.”

Moira glanced back, a smirk threatening. “No, but I do want to take you to dinner.”

“When don’t you?” She muttered under her breath. She was growing quickly frustrated at how normally minor irritations were running unchecked that morning. louder, she continued. “Does this one at least have an occasion?”

“I had hoped you’d remembered your own birthday, Clover.”

She stilled, blinking. Her eyes flicked up to Moira, who was watching her expectantly.

“Unless the date in your file was forged?”

Clover shook her head, eyebrows creasing. “No, no my birthday is… _yeah._ This month, isn’t it? _Verdomme_ …”

Moira stepped back over as she began to clean up, helping her straighten the papers into a Manila folder. “I know your friends are very important to you. I had planned to invite the others— Gabriel, Genji, and… dare I admit _Jesse.”_

The thought should have warmed her heart. The people she was closest too, all sitting around a table, celebrating and being happy. 

“You know Genji can’t eat very well,” she pointed out, slowing in her movements. “And Jesse has hardly _fancy dinner_ material. Gabe either, for that matter.”

“It is _your_ birthday.” Moira glanced down at her, eyebrows furrowed. “It hardly matters what they want.”

Clover frowned at her. “That’s not how I see it. I don’t want to make anyone feel left out or uncomfortable.”

Moira touched her chin with her thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up. She noted how the woman’s eyes dipped to the vibrant bruise under her eye. “You’re too selfless, _mo stór._ What do _you_ want?”

She glanced to the floor as she considered it. “I just want to spend time with you all. Nothing fancy or expensive.” She glanced away, considering it. “But with lots to drink.”

Moira nodded. “I’ll see it done, then.”

She didn’t deserve her.

“Hey—” Clover grabbed her hand as she started to pull away. Gently, she led her down into a soft kiss, one that Moira was more than happy to reciprocate. Once they pulled away, she squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry I’m being snappy today. I appreciate you.”

Moira smiled, tucking a loose strand of her bangs back. “I appreciate _you, mo stór_. I… apologize, for anything and everything Dr. Ziegler may have said to you, or implied.” Her expression shifted, then, and Clover noted her own irritation. “...Did she say anything else to you?”

Clover groaned, taking out her remaining earbud and putting it away. “Just.. I don’t know. She said I don’t belong here, basically, in less words. She kept nagging me about how I’d have a job if I decided to return to Overwatch. I don’t want to leave Blackwatch, I don’t want to leave _you._ Besides— I find Overwatch is boring, looking back on it…”

It was, truthfully. Every day was seeing a million new faces blurring past her in the pristine, too-bright building. Yet, she had known _none_ of them. Yet, in her time in Blackwatch, she’d come to know several of the staff in the building. There were many less people, but it felt tighter-knit.

She supposed it had to in their line of work. You wanted to know who had your back and who would be quick to stab you in it.

Moira opened the file of her compiled studies again, going through them. “You’d be better off there, as hesitant as I am to agree with her.”

Clover glanced back, staggered by the comment. “What do you mean?”

Moira’s eyes moved back and forth quickly as she scanned her annotations. “Blackwatch isn’t known for— _well,_ it’s not known at _all,—_ but it does not handle research to this degree. I’m afraid you’d have to transfer back to Zurich, or perhaps even Oslo, if you wish to seek proper funding. Gabriel will never allow it.”

She frowned, then. “You do research here. Why wouldn’t he let me?”

Moira pursed her lips, closing the folder. “My situation is a touch more complicated, darling.”

“Because of your paper?”

Moira glanced at her. It was a long moment before she nodded, turning away. She began to busy herself with retrieving samples and tools. “Partially. I am well aware that you know why I’m _here_ and not _there.”_

“Because Overwatch fired you, and Gabriel hired you.” Clover cleared her assortment of pens away to make room for their daily tasks.

“That is the incredibly short version,” Moira sighed. She popped open a nitrogen canister and pulled the chilled samples free. “My work also pertains directly to Gabriel’s wellbeing, and that is not something I can oversee from another country.”

“My paper hindered my reputation,” she continued, bitterness seeping into her tone. “Overwatch… well, they didn’t have much to say when I was working quietly. No, apparently wanting to make a name for myself is where they draw the line.” Her lip twitched up into a scowl as she started pulling the purple vials free.

“I was everything they wanted, Clover. Ambitious, intelligent, willing to push the limits of humanity. Well… they don’t like when their puppets are not the poster children of _morality_. Look at Lena, Jack— _Angela_ especially _._ They are _perfect_ in every conceivable way, doing what they are told and sitting quietly by when they're not being used as marionettes by the organization.”

Clover leaned her lower back against the counters. “Suddenly you’re _too_ ambitious, _too_ intelligent, and _too_ willing to push the limits,” she guessed. “They didn’t like that too much, did they?”

Moira gave her a thin smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Precisely. They can’t have the black sheep ruining their holy reputation now, can they? How would the rest of the UN react, knowing they allowed such research to occur under their permittance?”

“Not well, I’d imagine.”

That angular jaw tightened. She was considering something as she worked, using a pipette to extract a sample from it’s home, dropping it onto a fresh slide. “The morning I got fired, do you know what Morrison said to me?”

Clover shook her head. “No. You haven’t talked about it, not at length.” Every time she had asked, Moira would get a look in her eye that rivaled even her worst days in the beginning. She’d learned quick that it was a sore subject.

Moira pressed the top of the slide into place. The purple substance spread from the compression.

“They told me that work such as my own was what led to the Omnic Crisis in the first place.” Anger flickered over her features before dissipating.

“They insinuated that I should have denounced my paper, that I should have claimed to have made a _mistake_ in my findings. That I was _wrong_.” She buried her face into a microscope, but Clover noticed the tremble in her lavender fingers. “They gave me an ultimatum— Admit I’d gone too far, or _leave_.”

“It’s obvious what choice you made.” Clover idly twirled a pen.

Moira scoffed, adjusting the knob of the machine. “ _Obviously._ I wasn’t going to be bullied into backing down.” She abandoned the slide to yank her tablet free from it’s charging dock.

“If they did that to you, why would you try and send me back?” She couldn’t stop the hurt from creeping into her voice. “I don’t want to work for them if that’s the case— not directly, anyway.”

Moira looked at her, her own eyes desolate. “Because I want the best for you, Clover. I may have stunted my own growth, but I will do anything in my power to make sure yours is not hindered because of me.” She turned back to the microscope, avoiding her gaze. “You’re so new to the field…”

She sighed heavily, deep in thought as she tapped away on her notes.

“I think sometimes, that perhaps… I wish you _had_ walked away, like the others. It would have been better.” 

Clover’s mouth fell open at the comment. She wasn’t sure how to respond immediately, but she knew how she _felt_ hearing it.

Bending, she snatched her bag from it’s place on the floor. “You know—” her voice wavered as she tried to contain her anger, “—for being one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, Moira, sometimes you say the _stupidest_ shit.”

The woman looked up in alarm at her tone, finding her hastily shoving her belongings into the bag. After a flash of confusion, the realization of what she had said dawned on her. “Oh, come now, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant, you still _said it_.” She jerked the strap onto her shoulder and stormed towards the door. She could hear Moira starting to follow, trying to stumble her way through an apology, but was silenced as Clover threw a wave over her shoulder. 

“You want me to take time for myself? _Fine._ I’ll see you later.”

She nearly ran into Gabe on her way out. He threw his hands up in defense as he saw her expression. Scowling, Clover shouldered past him and disappeared into the stairwell.

He turned into the lab, an eyebrow perched. “What the hell did you do now?”

Irate, Moira threw her datapad aside, the device clattering to the desk. She pushed her fingers through her hair. “What _haven’t_ I done?” she hissed through grit teeth.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on this chapter for longer than I can remember, my memory is so shot lately with the state of the world

Clover was jolted awake by twenty pounds of metal leaping onto her chest. 

“We have been _over this_ —” she hissed, shoving Circuit off of her. “You _can’t_ do that! Not on my _ribs_!”

The omnic hummed in acknowledgement, rolling to their side on the bed. “I apologize, my lovely, but it sounds as though you’ve got company. They’ve been pounding on the door for five minutes now.”

Clover flopped back into her bedding, the feather comforter puffing up around her. “They’ll leave.” She wasn’t in the mood to get dressed and deal with them.

Circuit pressed on her leg tentatively before stepping up onto her thighs. “Your phone has been ringing like crazy, too. I’m surprised you managed to sleep through it.” They settled on top of her, paws crossed over her chest. “If you’re not bothered then I don’t see a problem. I am more than happy to partake in extended nap time.”

She rolled her eyes, throwing her hand out across the bedding in search of the device. When she found it, she pulled it closer and squinted as she tried to get the facial recognition to work. “Probably Moira,” she grumbled as it unlocked. True to her word, she had several messages from her. “Dunno what possessed her to— _oh, shit!_ ”

Bolting upright, she startled Circuit from her lap, the omnic leaping to the floor with a yelp. “What?! Who died?!”

“Me, in a minute!” She clambered out of her tangle of sheets. Her feet hit the floor and she snatched her glasses from the nightstand before skidding from the room. 

After leaving the lab, she had gone home and immediately thrown herself into bed. Being angry had managed to exhaust her, sending her straight into a much needed nap— one that had lasted longer than she’d anticipated. The daylight hours had ticked by into late afternoon.

Not unexpected, she had missed calls from Moira. The woman had texted her half a novel worth of an apology. Truly, it was a feat in itself, seeing as the woman only texted if she deemed it unable to wait.

Not expected, however, were the text messages asking her where she was. She had quite a few from Moira, and even more from the trio of men in the group. The ones from Gabriel were progressively more hostile as the time stamps grew further apart. She had a long list of missed calls that required scrolling to see them all.

Clover hastily tugged her arms into a jacket, zipping it up as she went. The pounding on the door was incessant now. She could hear Reyes barking at her through the door, demanding she answer.

She ripped it open, her hair wild, in nothing more than a jacket, a bra, and a pair of shorts.

“Gabe—!” She started, but found her words cut short as he entered her apartment without an invite. Sighing, she threw the door closed. “Fine. Make yourself at home.”

He wheeled around in the middle of her living room, arms crossed and eyes blaring. “Have you been here all day? _Sleeping_?”

She shuffled her feet, hands balling at her sides. “Yeah, I took a nap. What of it?”

“When I summon you for a meeting, Haugen, _you come running._ ”

She huffed, having to hold back the eye roll she desperately wanted to give him. “I’m sorry,” she managed, teeth grit. “It won’t happen again.”

“I am _sick_ of all of you disrespecting me! Want me to start acting like Jack? Breathing down your fucking necks? I will. I don’t pay you to do whatever the fuck you want. Whatever happened between you and O’Deorain today—”

“ _—will not happen again_ ,” she snapped. “You wanna act like Morrison? Go ahead, Gabriel. Do it.” She glowered at him. “What are you going to do, fire me? Send me back?”

He stopped, contemplation settling into his features as he analyzed her. His anger subsided— if only slightly. “You’re just picking all kinds of fights today, aren’t you?”

Clover scoffed. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” 

She crossed her living room in a few short strides. Snatching a half-filled spray bottle, she began to mist her wild assortment of greenery. It served as something to keep her hands busy, to stop them from shaking. Her back was kept to him.

“I heard through the grapevine that you had a few choice words for the world’s best surgeon last night. Then _again_ for your girlfriend this morning.” Shifting his stance, he sized her up. “Is this about the mission?”

The question of the day. Clover pursed her lips in frustration. “I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t bother me over this.”

“Guess you thought wrong.”

She huffed, spraying a speckled pothos. “I did my job, Gabe. What do you want me to say? That I’m _sorry?_ ”

“You’re under my supervision, and I like to make sure that my people are _fine._ Now, no one said anything about an apology,” he pointed out. “Do you feel like you owe one?”

“ _No_.”

“Good— because you _don’t,_ Haugen, and you’ve got to stop apologizing over small shit.”

She laughed at that. “Really?” Swiping a pair of scissors, she quickly nipped a dying leaf at the stem. The withering cutting was tossed into her bowl of potential propagations. “I’m sorry, then— or _not_ , if you don’t want me to be— that it seems everything I do points to the conclusion that _I do not belong_.”

She scowled at a sunburn on her plant. “Apparently I’m _too_ empathetic, I’m _too_ apologetic, and I’m _too_ desperate to prove myself.” The realization that she had nearly parroted Moira’s earlier words in the lab felt like a stab in the chest. The words were not parroted verbatim, no, but the sentiment was there.

She hadn’t felt welcomed in Overwatch. She didn’t feel right in Blackwatch, but it felt _somewhat_ more proper. If neither of those were right, then were was she meant to be?

“Why did you accept my transfer? Surely there are more _skilled_ fighters you could have had your pick of.”

He settled onto her couch, arms thrown across the back. “I don’t take just anyone, Clover. Only those I have faith in.”

She shook her head, cutting off another frayed leaf. Lifting the pot, she moved it two inches to the left, out of direct sunlight. “That doesn’t explain how I am of any value to Blackwatch. How am I not a _liability_ in your eyes?”

Gabriel sighed, tilting his head back. He cracked his neck with concerning noise, and sank into the cushions after the tension was released. “You’ve got hatred inside of you. We all do.”

“That’s so very ‘ _depressed teenager’_ of you to say.”

“I’ve been called edgy,” he smirked. Shaking his head, he continued. “You’re protective, and you’re not bad on your feet or with your hands— It’s just your fucking eyes that are shit. I think, given the right training and some good old fashioned intimidation, you can hold your own with the big kids.”

The child comment stung. “I am _sick_ of feeling small compared to the rest of you,” she muttered, bitterness seeping in.

“That? That’s what I’m talking about. You let spite drive you.” He waved his hand aimlessly. “Look at Moira— she’s not a fighter. She’d rather spend her days in the lab, picking away at— what the hell is it that you two even do? Play 'lego's' with the body?”

“That is a painfully simple explanation, but… _yes,_ partially.”

“You think she, of all people, wants to be out there in the middle of a hailstorm of bullets?”

“I think she doesn’t have a choice,” Clover muttered. After all, she no longer held her position within Overwatch. Gabriel had offered her another job, and it would have been foolish to deny it, especially after putting her radical thoughts out into the world. Where else would she have had to turn to?

The thought made her angry. She wanted to tell them, the cynics, that they were _wrong_ , that she was making unprecedented headway despite their censorship. Moira found _solutions_. So what if they weren’t through the most desirable of methods? It was better than wasting millions of dollars on a project destined to fail because of their prudence.

She’d seen Moira create things that shouldn’t have been possible. How did that not warrant praise?

Shrugging, he continued on, unaware of her wandering thoughts. “You remind me of a more bitter Lena, actually. I mean— have you _seen_ Oxton?”

“Once, in passing.” Clover frowned at the memory of the eccentric pilot. “... she's _very_ loud.”

He ignored the comment. “It is actually possible to be _empathetic,_ as you put it, while also doing a job like this. There’s a healthy balance out there. If anyone can find it, it will be you.”

The repetitive _snip_ of her scissors was cut short, the blades hovering over her next leafy victim. “... we kill people, Gabriel. How is that the same?”

“You think she hasn’t?”

She kept her eyes downcast, brows furrowed. She hadn’t given it any thought. It was hard to imagine the petite, kind, perhaps _whimsical,_ pilot in the midst of a war zone— let alone getting in something as mediocre as a schoolyard fistfight.

Though, she hadn’t been directly affected by the Omnic Crisis (thankfully). England had been hit hard, she knew, and could only imagine what Lena had seen.

Her thoughts circled back around to the only woman she ever seemed to think about. What had _Moira_ seen?

The couch creaked as Gabe stood. She heard him make his way over, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “You did the right thing. They chose their path, and you’re paving yours.” Hesitating, he scratched his jaw. “I won’t say it gets easier— you just… get used to it.”

She breathed, a humorless laugh at the edge of the action. “ _Get used to it_. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flicked the leaf of a plant that was as tall as him. She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t comment on the action. “You wanna know why I really picked you, Haugen? It’s because you _are_ a scientist.”

“ _Obviously_.”

He shook his head at her. “You’re able to pull back and look at a scenario objectively— you _have to_ , that’s the whole point of your job. You’re gonna be able to see a lot more than someone like me or Jesse can with all that expensive critical thinking clogging up your brain.”

She mulled over his words. “Hmph... do I at least get a raise for my desirable skill set?”

“ _Fuck_ no.”

“Perhaps a research grant, then?”

He blinked in surprise, tilting his head at her. “No. Didn’t know you wanted one?”

She shrugged, putting her gardening tools away. “I’d _like_ one. I’m a neurogeneticist first and foremost, Gabe— I’d like to do my own work eventually and crawl out from under Moira’s shadow.”

As the words came out, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Where had the thought come from? Is that what she really felt— that she was pinned under the other woman’s achievements?

Shaking her head at the thought, she turned to him. “I got mad at her today because she basically said I should have stayed in Overwatch, that I should have stayed away from her.” Her exhaustion crept in, an ache settling in the base of her skull. “If I transfer back… I can get to work on what _I_ want— she wasn’t wrong about that.”

“I can’t stop you, if that’s what you decide.” He picked up the spray bottle and experimentally misted a cactus. She snatched the bottle from his hands before he could do any damage. “That’s your decision to make— just know we’ll miss you, and we’ll miss having you in the fray.”

The words took a moment to sink in. When they finally did, she blinked up at him, surprised. “You’re gonna let me keep running missions?”

“As long as you’re not screwing them up, I don’t see why I wouldn’t.” He smirked.

Clover hung her head, shoulders rising and falling as she forced out an over exaggerated sigh. “You know, after all is said and done, I don’t think I could ever go back to a normal job. Apparently I like the _thrill_ too much.”

“See? I always make the best choices when I oversee the new hires.”

Smirking at his playfulness, she raised up the bottle and sprayed him. He swatted the most away with a laugh.

Even if marginally, the sound made her feel better.

It felt good, seeing him outside of a work setting. It had been hard to do so— he was a busy man, always rushing around here and there between missions and briefings.

He still looked tired, but he looked _better_. Better than she’d seen in months.

Clover chewed the inside of her lip and she watched him browse her assortment of houseplants. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Depends on the question.” His brown eyes flicked to hers. “What’s up?”

“How are _you_ doing?”

His gaze shifted back to her prized monstera. His shoulders shifted back as he inhaled, letting out a slow breath as he considered his answer. “Better. Whatever shit Moira’s pouring into me is helping. Kinda surprised by it— I dunno what she’s doing up there in that lab of yours, but it’s keeping me standing.”

Clover nodded. “Yeah— she mentioned it’s attacking the growths pretty aggressively. They’re breaking them down and repairing—”

He held a hand up to stop her. “I don’t care what it’s doing, as long as it’s doing it well. I don’t understand geek, so don’t even try.”

Offering an apologetic smile, she nodded. “Of course.”

He didn’t linger much longer. He went over what she missed during the meeting before heading out, claiming he had a stack of paperwork to set in on.

They’d found a viable lead based off the emblem the omnic— Max— had worn. It linked him to a casino in Monaco. A casino that, as it turned out, Vialli invested a considerable amount of time and money into. As for the ‘Numbani situation,’ they had yet to discern anything of value. It would likely be a few days before they heard back on that one.

Even Circuit had gone for their nightly prowl, leaving her alone with nothing but her brain for company.

Clover tossed in her bed. Her phone was quiet, and she still hadn’t responded to the lengthy texts her girlfriend had sent her. Moira hadn’t sent her anything past asking her where she was, so she could only assume she’d gotten the idea.

Something Moira had said was beginning to bother her the more she thought about it, the thought an irritating itch at the back of her mind that she couldn’t shake.

_I had hoped you’d remembered your own birthday_.

She frowned at her ceiling. Logically, there were a number of reasons she’d forget. Stress, her hectic schedule, the fact that she didn’t even _care_ about the date. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed it. There was hardly reason to celebrate another year without managing to die, after all. Most accomplished it if they were lucky.

However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was _wrong_.

The fact that Angela had suggested that Moira wasn’t being honest had filled her with rage she hadn’t felt before. Hell, she’d never felt as defensive for someone as she did for Moira.

Her partner was right— she didn’t have to defend her. She didn’t want Moira fighting her battles, and it was only fair to step back and offer the same courtesy. They were both brilliant and accomplished women.

As the fury had subsided, though, she felt _guilty_ that— for a brief moment— she had entertained the thought. Moira had reassured her that everything was fine.

So why hadn’t she seen the results with her own two eyes?

Acid started rising in her throat, and she choked it down with a wince. No, Moira was not a liar. Moira had not lied to her once since she’d known her— absolutely not.

… but what if she had?

Against her own volition, her feet carried her from her bed and to her closet. She had to stand on her toes to prod around the top of the door frame.

Her fingers clasped around the flash drive and she pulled, breaking the tape that kept it firmly against the paneling.

Settling on the bed with her laptop, she rolled the small device between her fingers for several long minutes as she contemplated just what exactly she was planning on doing. It was wrong— it was _incredibly_ wrong to go behind her partner’s back, snoop through a copy of her notes she didn’t know existed, with the intent on trying to prove if she had been dishonest.

With great hesitancy, she plugged the device in.

The files came up instantly. They were organized neatly, separated into more files than perhaps necessary. If Moira was anything, she was organized.

Thus, it wasn’t hard to find medical records. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she ended up opening the PDF of Moira’s own blood results. She noted her blood type, and— by God, how did she function with iron so low?,—and decided to keep moving. The snooping made her feel grimy.

There were files on Argie, of course. The reminder made her sad. Clover liked to imagine that the rabbit was living her best life, being fed the freshest of vegetables and receiving an ample supply of bananas, but she knew better. Lab animals… were not kept as pets, once their use to science was deemed finished.

They weren’t kept at all.

She moved away before she could make herself depressed. Poking around in the files, she was trying to avoid clicking on the one labeled with her name. The thought of opening it was making her stomach twist into knots.

Why was she so unsettled? Her anxieties were just that— _anxieties,_ based on nothing more than _‘what if_ ’s. That was hardly solid ground to justify her distrust. The only hunch she had to go off of was _Angela fucking Ziegler_ . A woman who held great hesitancy to accept anything relating to Moira as _right_ as far as Clover was concerned. She hated Moira’s work, that’s what it boiled down to in her mind.

She didn’t hold hate in her heart— not that she knew of. No, Gabe was wrong in that regard. She cared deeply for him, she cared for Moira, and at one point she had cared for James. Yet, she couldn’t stop the disdain she felt for him and his boss after hearing their revulsion towards her partner.

It should have concerned her, how far she was willing to go to defend Moira. It should have been terrifying how one woman walked into her life, and suddenly her thoughts and emotions were consumed, her senses filled with nothing but sharp features, a silver-tongue, and a low voice.

Yet, she felt as though she had facts— Moira had been open about who she was, what she liked, what she hated, and how much she cared for Clover. There was no tangible evidence that Moira had said anything less than the truth. Yes, perhaps she didn’t give the _whole_ story, as in Gabriel’s case, but… that was an extenuating circumstance.

She also knew that Moira was stubborn. She could hardly imagine that the woman with a seemingly unwavering will— who let it bend only for a short while to allow her girlfriend to do things such as make _pancakes_ in the middle of the night,— could be dishonest with her. She already let Clover get away with things anyone else would have been scolded for.

Huffing in irritation, Clover ripped the USB from her computer. She threw it into her nightstand before slamming the drawer shut. 

Grabbing her phone, she sent a short message.

_Come over?_


	42. Chapter 42

They kissed and made up, Clover forgot all about the flash drive hidden in her nightstand, and Moira unsurprisingly stayed the night.

Waking up in her arms always served as an emotional reset. The morning was typical— Reyes put her on the treadmill, and she was thankful that she could spend the time with Moira, even if they didn’t say much during their hour in the gym.

The training bay was where they parted ways, each time. Gabriel was already waiting for her.

Moira bent, her lips pressing to the corner of her lips. “I’ll be up in the lab— I will see you in a little while.”

“See you,” she murmured, disappointed as Moira pulled away from her. The frown that crossed her lips gave way to her evident displeasure.

She turned, forcing a smile at Gabe. “What do you have planned today?”

Genji and Jesse were nowhere to be seen, and Gabe was dressed in civilian clothing. Either she was in for a rough day where he pushed her to the limits while standing on the sidelines, or training was about to be canceled. She hoped for the latter— training alone was always a bore.

He didn’t answer right away. He shifted his eyes up to the receding geneticist, and Clover followed his gaze. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Moira, a moment.”

She had been headed for the showers when stopped. Both Moira and Clover looked to him, perplexed.

“I just don’t think it’s fair your girlfriend here is putting in all of the work while you’re playing Junkenstien up in the lab.” He threw an arm around Clover’s shoulder’s, bringing her in close. “Do you think that’s fair, Haugen?”

“I’m not getting in the middle of whatever is about to transpire.”

Gabe rolled his eyes at her before facing Moira once more. The woman’s eyes had narrowed as she tried to piece together whatever he was planning. 

“Now, my husband is in town for a meeting today and I _fully_ intend to capitalize on his time.” He shrugged slightly. “Jesse and Genji are busy with an errand I need done, so that leaves poor Clover here all alone.” He gave her a smug look.

“... you don’t want to leave your girlfriend all _alone,_ do you, Moira?”

“She is more than welcome to join me in the lab, and she likely will.” Moira turned on her heel, throwing out a hand as she began to saunter away. “She can join me in the _showers_ if you have no plans for her.”

Clover’s face turned red. “You can’t just imply—!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she hummed, amusement in her voice.

“Trust me, she’s said worse,” he chuckled. 

Clover gave him a sour look and he quickly straightened himself out.

“I’ve got plans for her,” Gabe promised. He squeezed her arm, gathering her attention. Clover gave him a quizzical look, and he winked down at her. “For _both_ of you.”

“I think it’s about time you got some real exercise in, O’Deorain! You can’t do an hour of jogging and call it a day. You’re gonna have to do a bit more than that.”

Moira stopped once again. Slowly, she turned to face them, disbelief written plain as day across her features. “ _Excuse me_?” she drawled.

Gabe beamed at her. “You’re gonna rock climb with Haugen, and you’re gonna like it.” He pulled her in again, squeezing her. “If you don’t, I’ll find another method of torture for you! You won’t enjoy it, I’ll make sure of it.”

Her nostrils flared slightly, a tell to the irritation she was trying to conceal. “What could you _possibly_ do that would make me so inclined as to—“

“‘ _Friend, if you will’_ ,” he mocked in a terrible Irish accent.

Moira paled at the words. Clover furrowed her eyebrows, glancing between them. “Am I missing something?”

“ _No,”_ Moira answered quickly, her tone clipped. “Gabriel is just being a complete arse, as always.”

“An ass!” He raised his eyebrows. He looked down to Clover, a wolffish grin forming. “Just for that, I’ll tell you a story! Now, I’ve been friends with Moira here for a few _long_ years. Which would you like to hear about? There was that time in Bucharest she got so shit faced—“

“ _Gabriel,”_ she warned. From where Clover stood, she could have sworn she saw her eye twitch. “Don’t.”

Clover held up a hand, the other snaking around his waist. “No, no! I’m curious!” She tilted her face back up to him. “Hammered, you say?”

He opened his mouth, and Moira promptly cut him off. “I was _inebriated,_ which is hardly a crime.” She glared at him. Her eyes flicked to Clover, and her irate expression wavered for a moment. “I was… _working through_ some things.”

“If that’s how you wanna spin it,” he snorted, pulling away from Clover. “Now, you’re gonna get your skinny ass up on the rock wall or I’ll dig up some _embarrassing_ stories.” 

Heading for the door, Gabe tossed a wave over his shoulder. “ _Ciao,_ nerds.”

Heterochromatic eyes tracked him until he was out of sight. Even then, her lip was drawn up in a sneer and she looked furious.

Clover approached, finally drawing her attention. “You know— I’ve never seen you drunk. Seems a bit unfair, hmm?”

“I haven’t seen you in such a state either,” she scoffed. “Surely whatever happened on New Years can not be labled under ‘drunk‘.”

“Just _very_ tipsy,” she teased, standing on her toes to peck Moira’s lips. The affectionate gesture seemed to thaw her cold attitude.

Clover grabbed her arm, beginning to step back towards the training bay. It took her nearly dragging Moira into the floor to convince her to actually walk. “You know— you don’t ever have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with. I just… hoped you would have trusted me to tell me more about you.”

Moira sighed heavily. Her eyes flicked up, almost pleadingly, before settling on her partner. “I trust you, Clover. However, there are… things from my past that I don’t feel are _relevant_ today.”

“You don’t think I feel the same way?”

She pursed her lips. “I hardly believe someone as kind as you could have made even a quarter of the mistakes I have.”

Moira looked down at her, eyebrows knitting together as she considered it. After a long moment, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t enjoy keeping things from you— not that I _am,_ I’m merely…” she shook her head quickly, attempting to piece her words together in a way she found suitable. Typically it wasn’t so difficult for Moira to get words out.

“I have a very hard time letting people in, please understand that. I have shared more with you than others, yes, but… It’s still excruciatingly difficult, being so vulnerable.”

Clover squeezed her hand. “I know— it’s alright, I appreciate that you’re trying.” She stepped forward again, closing the gap between them once again. She released Moira’s left hand, grabbing her right one instead. She pressed her thumbs into her palm. “All I’m saying is… you don’t have to be afraid with me. I’ll never shun you for anything in your past, present or future.”

Moira withdrew her hand from her grasp, laying her palm on her cheek. “Please— never say never.”

“I’m—”

“I mean it, Clover.” Her tone hardened. “This one time— please do not say ‘never’. I’m not as good of a person as you believe me to be.”

Clover frowned at her. “I really wish you’d see yourself the way I see you. I don’t think that.”

“I know you don’t, but I wish you did.”

“I wish you’d stop being so self deprecating.”

“I wish you weren’t such a brat.” A smile licked at the corners of her lips. 

Clover scoffed, pushing her hand away despite her own smile. “You like it.”

Moira studied her, continuing to smile. “Come along— I was being serious about joining me in the showers.”

Blinking in surprise, confusion crossed Clover’s expression. “What happened to the rock wall?”

Moira _laughed_ at the question. “Gabriel’s not here— really, do you expect me to _climb_?” She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head at the thought.

Clover puffed out her cheeks in irritation. “I enjoy the rock wall! I think it would be fun!”

Moira chuckled again. “ _No._ Absolutely _not._ ”

A strangled noise was ripped from Moira as she stopped abruptly, the safety harness of the rock wall catching her before she could hit the ground. 

As it turned out, a few pouts could sway Moira more than she would likely care to admit.

She writhed in the rigging, cussing up a storm in Gaelic as she failed to undo the clasps. Clover couldn’t stop the grin that came to her lips as she slid down, coming to stop beside her.

Reaching out, her fingers slipped a few times as she tried to get a hold of her wriggling partner. “Come _here—!_ ”

She managed to get a hold on her calf, dragging her close. Moira looked up to her, and before she could make a biting comment, she found their lips pressed together in a firm kiss. The action worked as intended— Moira’s frustrations melted away as she caught the expression on her partner's face.

“You’re laughing at me,” she accused, her words holding no resentment. However, she could see the embarrassment in her eyes.

Clover snorted. “Not _at_ you, just... in your general vicinity.” She winked. She pulled her in for another kiss, thankful for the rigging, before letting go so they could swing back to their original positions. “I’m actually having a lot of fun. If you’re frustrated, though, we can stop.”

She tilted her head, watching her. “You’re not good at… _not being good_ at something, are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grumbled, still trying to undo her rigging. As her nails continued to get in the way, causing her to keep missing the clasps, she gave up and threw her hands in the air.

“We can stop, it’s okay, Moira.”

Sighing heavily, Moira studied her expression before glancing back to the wall. 

“If you can make it at least halfway,” she wagered, “I’ll do that thing you like.”

Moira eyed her skeptically. “ _Which_ thing?”

“ _That_ thing.”

Her eyebrows furrowed briefly before she made the realization. Her mouth opened in a small ‘o’, and Clover enjoyed the flush that spread across her cheeks.

“You _never_ do that for me,” Moira breathed. It was evident she’d been caught off guard by the images no doubt flashing through her mind. Her face was still scarlet, her eyes wider than normal.

“I’ll do it for you tonight, if you’re up for it— _if_ you do what I asked.”

“Fine,” she huffed, turning to the wall with renewed vigor. It was clear her desire won out that morning. “Show me again— and be more explanatory, please. ‘ _Use your legs’_ isn’t as constructive as you think it to be.”

Clover grabbed the closest holds. “You’re doing what i used to— you’re trying to _pull_ yourself up, but… well, you don’t have very much upper body strength, I’m not going to lie.”

“How observant,” she muttered, sarcasm seeping into her tone. Moira found purchase on the wall and began to ascend once more. “However, it seems I had enough to lift you when—”

She hissed, her foot sliding off the hold and nearly sending her back to the ground. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the wall. It appeared as though she was having a hard time holding on considering the length of her nails and the size of her feet.

Clover managed to maneuver sideways towards her. “Here— put your feet like this.” She glanced down, putting the tip of her foot on a wider piece. “You can pivot this way… using the flat part is just gonna make you slip.” She looked apologetically at her hands. “Your nails, however, are going to do you no favors here.”

“Such a drole activity is hardly worth ruining them over.” She inspected her nails. Noting one was split horizontally, she made a low noise of disapproval. 

Shaking her head, Clover focused back in on the conversation. “C’mon— you know my terms. Make it at least halfway for me. I might even take that shower with you.”

“I don’t understand how you find this _fun,”_ she grumbled. “It’s quite frustrating.”

Turning back to the wall herself, she started to scale it once more. “At first, yeah.” She hopped up a few feet quickly, pivoting on her toes. “I think… it’s fun, because I couldn’t do it before. A lot’s changed— you, uh… you know better than anyone I wasn’t really _active_ a few months ago.” Her face burned at the memory.

She’d never cared about her weight— sure, she was a bit _thick,_ as some people would have put it, but it had never been a concern.

“It feels good to be able to do this again. I… really liked running, and climbing as a kid. As I got older, though, I started spending more time indoors.” She stopped and moved over as Moira began to follow her. “Reading, listening to music, _studying._ And then with the Omnic crisis… my parents were hesitant to let me go outside. They didn’t want something to happen. I was their only kid, and they didn’t… well, you know how parents can be, I guess.”

Moira pulled herself up, grunting as she did. “I think the _crisis_ —“ she hissed as she nearly slipped again,— “ruined day to day life for a _lot_ of people.” She flexed her fingers against the hold she was clinging to. “A lot of kids didn’t get to _be_ kids.”

“Did Null Sector attack Dublin?”

They paused in their ascension. They were only a few feet off the ground, but with such a loaded question and the strain it was evidently putting on the other, she wanted to give her a break.

“A handful of times. Typically, they opted to go for England.” She shifted her weight, settling on a wider foothold. “Still, it didn’t stop people from dying.”

Clover nodded, glancing away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault?” Moira frowned at her. “Why are you apologizing.”

She winced a bit, remembering what Gabriel had told her. “I just… feel the need to, I suppose. You sounded sad.”

Moira grew quiet. Her eyes shifted as she searched the imperfections in the concrete, examining each pebble and grain of sand buried within the material.

“A lot of good people died for nothing. The attacks were random, and… well, nothing could be done when they decided to level an area.”

Clover moved closer. She wanted to hug her, but their current position wouldn’t allow it. “Did you lose someone?”

She started moving again, passing Clover. “No. I lost neighbors, acquaintances, but not anyone close to me. All I had growing up was my mother.”

“With so much destruction, it’s curious you’re not hostile towards omnics.” She pushed herself up with her toes, following behind.

She glanced down at her, an eyebrow perched. “One could say the same for you. What was it that you said? You didn’t ask to be here, and neither did that?” With a swift shake of the head, she studied the wall above her in search for an adequate grip. “Not all Omnics are bad. Take Circuit, for example. I must admit— I’ve grown fond of the little rascal.”

“I love them dearly,” she sighed, thinking of her companion. “They were there for me— after my mom died.”

Moira looked to her as they stopped beside each other again. “You don’t talk about her.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed.

“Would you like to?”

She was letting her choose, rather than prying. It was something she appreciated about Moira— she wouldn’t dig into her, not directly. She wouldn’t force her to speak about something she wasn’t ready to talk about.

Was she ready?

Lips pursed, she considered it. “The last person I talked to about her was Jamie. Well… we’re not exactly _friends_ anymore, so…”

She took a deep breath, nodding. “If we’re as serious as I think we are, I think that, yes, I’d like to share that history with you.”

Where to begin?

Clover sighed, pressing her forehead to the wall. She let her eyes close so she wouldn’t have to look at her. “My parents loved each other, so much, Moira. Everyone considered them _zielsverwanten—_ soulmates. You’d never catch them apart.”

“My mother had me later in her life. For a long time, they thought they wouldn’t be able to have children because she had problems with her ovaries. They didn’t mind— They enjoyed traveling and just… enjoying their time together. My dad would take her to see all kinds of bands, and play music for her all hours of the night.”

Moira hummed in acknowledgement. “You never told me he played music.”

She laughed, nodding. “Oh, man. My mother always said he was a musician first and accountant second.” She glanced up, a smile on her face. “He’d play all the time. Bass, guitar, keyboard. I think he was like me— needed to keep his hands moving or he’d spontaneously combust.”

Moira chuckled. “As I’ve observed.” She nodded for her to continue.

Clover’s smile gradually faded as she thought more on her parents. “She had me at… thirty five, I believe. Very late for the Netherlands— most women have their children at thirty or so.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “I could never.”

“My father… he was the same age— give or take a year. I always get them mixed up to this day. His diagnosis was early onset, unfortunately… I was a teenager when we got the news.”

Moira nearly fell trying to keep up with her, and Clover hadn’t realized she’d sped up to keep pace. Thankfully, she reached out in time and caught her arm, keeping her up. She thanked her and righted herself on the wall.

“Things were fine for a few years. They were fine up until he started having trouble with basic things. Our address, his phone number. Where he’d kept his car keys for twenty five years.”

“I don’t… have many memories of my grandmother,” she admitted. “She passed along when I was really small. I know, though, that caring for her took a toll on my father. Sometimes, I’d hear my mother crying on the phone at night, saying how he was never the same after watching her deteriorate. She didn’t think she was strong enough to go through a similar experience.”

Her bottom lip quivered, and she had to stop climbing. Quickly, she blinked away the tears that were threatening to form, lest Moira see them.

“I still love my mother,” she clarified before continuing. Her fingers shook, and she tightened her hold. “I was… _angry_ for a while, but I believe that’s a normal part of grief. I don’t blame her.”

She sniffled, glancing up at the top of the wall for a distraction. “She, uh… she wasn’t strong enough, in the end. She couldn’t… she couldn’t bear to watch the love of her life fall apart, so, she, uh…”

Moira came up beside her, closer than expected. “You don’t have to say it.”

Clover nodded, clenching her teeth together in a vain attempt to keep her composure.

“We made it halfway,” she pointed out with a forced smile, trying to spin humor into the situation. “Look at you— a pro climber, who would have thought? Guess that means I have to—”

“Clover.”

“I’m just glad that he forgot about it. About her.”

It was a black mark on the Haugen family tree, one that her relatives still talked about in hushed whispers. They frowned upon their trio, for many reasons.

She glanced over and made eye contact unexpectedly, her eyelashes wet. “I’ve made this weird, I’m s—”

Moira moved even further into her space, as much as she could without knocking either of them down. “Don’t apologize.” She shifted her hold, as though she wanted to reach out and touch her. After thinking about it, she did reach out. Carefully, she tucked a loose strand of hair away before brushing at the tears on her cheek. “... I consider us serious as well, and I’m honored you feel strong enough to share such an intimate detail with me, _mo ghrá geal._ ”

Clover nodded, leaning into her touch. “Thank you, Moira.”

“Thank _you,_ darling.”

Pulling herself together, Clover nodded sternly at nothing in particular. “Well, then. Angst hour is over. I believe you said something about a _shower?_ ”

Casting a shaky smile in Moira‘s direction, she pushed off the wall and disappeared to the ground below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I would apologize for back to back angst, but... we’re in the eye of the storm.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been staring at this chapter for a month, I hate it, I don’t want to keep working on it. It’s a filler chapter anyway.

“Are you ready to leave?”

Clover leaned on the desk beside Moira, trying to catch her eye. Two weeks had come and gone faster than expected. They had made plans for the evening— her birthday— and Clover was admittedly more excited than she’d been in many years for the date.

Moira side eyed her before returning to her computer. “... about that.”

Blinking, Clover frowned and shifted closer. “You said you’d come over.”

“I did.”

“Then why do you sound like you’re about to cancel on me?”

Moira sighed, pausing in her typing. “Gabriel has asked for me this evening. You’re more than welcome to leave now, if you’d like, but I’ll be here for another couple of hours.” She looked over, frowning apologetically. “No more than two, I assure you.”

A frown touched her own lips. “You promised, Moira. You and me tonight— my place.”

“I did. I intend on keeping that promise as well, only you may have to wait a little while longer.”

She searched her eyes, trying not to seem hurt. “... okay. I can stay too, it’s fine.”

“He wished to speak to me _alone_.” When it became evident she was not going to elaborate, Clover pulled away with a more exaggerated sigh. “Don’t pout. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“You absolutely _are_ , darling,” Moira mumbled, trying to hide the barest hint of a smirk.

Clover withheld an eye roll. She scooped up her bag, casting a glance over her shoulder. “Just… let me know when you’re on your way?”

“Of course.” Moira glanced back at her. When she caught her disappointed expression, she stood, abandoning her work for a moment. In a few short strides she had caught up with her. Clover’s attitude evaporated as Moira bent, catching her lips. “I will not leave you wanting.”

Clover frowned at the ceiling. Her head was thrown over the edge of her couch, her vision tilted from the way she laid. “She’s not coming.”

Circuit strut along the back of the couch, humming. “Don’t say that, honey. She is.”

She closed her eyes, focusing on the way it felt to have the blood rush to her head. “If she were, she’d be here by now. She said two hours—”

“— and she still has another thirty minutes in that window.” They hopped down, landing carefully beside her, lest they get yelled at again for breaking a rib. “Even if she didn’t, it’s not like you to mope over your birthday. Usually you don’t care.”

Clover pursed her lips. As Circuit began to climb on her, she righted her position to properly lay on the couch. As her blood reoriented, she fought through the vertigo. “Yeah, well I wasn’t this gay last year. Or the year before.”

Circuit, who had begun to knead her stomach, paused. “What about that year with the blonde?”

“Oh— that hardly counts.” Her face turned red at the mention of one of her exes. Not from residual affection—more from shame, remembering how miserable their relationship had been. “There’s a reason we only lasted a month.”

The omnic nodded, pressing their paws into her once more. “You care a great deal about Moira.”

Clover eyed then skeptically at their tone. “... I _do._ ”

“So much that you let her get between you and James.”

She sighed, throwing her head back against the armrest. “ _Circuit._ ”

“What?” They looked up to her. At times like this, she really wished they had an expressive face, so she could tell what they were thinking. “You two were best friends for years. Don’t get me wrong— Moira is a lovely woman—”

“And you’re annoying.”

“— but you would allow one person to come between you two? After several years?”

She threw an arm over her face. If anyone else had asked her about it, she would have left the room. However, she knew Circuit was persistent, and would continue to ask questions no matter what she told them.

“You didn’t hear what he was saying,” she finally broke down. “Said she was playing _god_ , Circuit.”

“Is she?”

Clover _laughed._ “No! No, of course not. She’s just…”

She moved her arm, her gaze searching the ceiling once more. How to word it?

“Moira is very _impatient_ ,” she decided. “Very _solution-oriented._ Even if that solution may cause a few more problems— she’ll find a way to solve them as well.”

“And what problem is she trying to solve?”

She brushed her thumb over their forehead. “Ailments, obviously. Her work is helping Gabe— is that not enough?” Clover scowled. “She’s not playing _god,_ Circuit. I don’t even know where he got the notion for that. People are scared by the unknown. She’s very interested in pushing ideas, and that scares them.”

Circuit nodded again, their head bobbing slowly. “Uh- _huh_. That doesn’t explain why you picked a fight with that other doctor.”

Clover narrowed her eyes. “Why does this sound like you’re about to lecture me?”

“Because you have never acted this irrationally before.”

Huffing in irritation, she looked away. “ _Angela_ is arrogant, and has an inflated ego. For her to even _think_ for a _second_ that Moira would lie to me is _absurd_.” She rolled her eyes at the memory. “I’ve already worked through this, I don’t need you playing therapist with me.”

The omnic sighed. “I only think that perhaps you _may_ have let this woman consume your entire world, love. How can you not see the danger in such?”

“You adore her— so why the hell does it matter to you?”

They settled, crossing their paws. They were open— something Clover had always appreciated about them. Even if their honesty was, at times, annoying, they still offered valuable insight. “I’m no human, but I have picked up on a thing or two about how you all perceive emotions and relationships. You’re an outlier— you don’t have many,—”

“ _Thanks._ ”

“—and the ones that you _do_ have seem to be in jeopardy. I am _concerned_ for you, Clover— as your friend, not your cat.”

“Then don’t be,” she answered flatly.

They stood again, nuzzling their face against hers. “I care about you as much as an omnic _can_ care, Clover. I will never understand the depth of your emotions, but if they’re a fraction of how I feel, I suppose I can understand why you’d defend her so adamantly.”

Clover eyed them warily. “You’re giving me very mixed signals here.”

“No one exists without critique.” They looked at her. “That includes your girlfriend. What do you all like to say? That no one is perfect?”

“She is close to it,” Clover mumbled automatically. Her heart swelled at the thought, familiar fluttering kicked up as she thought on it. “She drives me crazy, in a good way. I’ve never felt like this for someone… it’s difficult to put into words.”

“I will never understand you humans,” they sighed. “I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

Clover couldn’t fight the smile at the sentiment. Then, she frowned, inspecting them. “Are _you_ happy?”

“As happy as an omnic can be, honey.”

“I think you feel more than you let on.”

Circuit chuckled, nuzzling against her face. “Well, keep thinking that.”

Their cuddling was interrupted by a knock at the door. Clover tilted her head back over the armrest to look at it properly. “Ah— that’s probably her. Up!”

“No, I don’t wanna move.”

“Tough luck,” she grumbled, pushing them into the floor. 

Circuit landed with a louder _thud_ than necessary. “Oh! My joints!” they wailed. “You’re gonna break one of my screws one of these days!”

Clover stuck her tongue out at them. “You’ve jumped from higher places. Get over it.”

Speak of the devil and she shall arrive. Clover pulled the door open, her expression instantly brightening as she saw her girlfriend. “About time!”

Moira smiled and held up her arms. “These are heavy. Are you actually going to let me in, or just stand there?”

Several reusable tote bags hung off her arms. Raising them slightly, Clover could hear the bottles within clinking together. It was a miracle they hadn’t snapped her limbs— she was thin, and they appeared _heavy_.

“This is why you told me you were working late? So you could go to the store?”

“You _did_ specify that you’d enjoy a few drinks, yes?”

Clover huffed, trying to take a couple of the bags from her to lighten the load. “Yeah— but this is _insane._ I can’t believe you spent this kind of money… We can’t drink all of this, Moira.”

A new voice startled her. “Not _alone,_ sunflower.”

She glanced up, her expression brightening as she noticed the three others who had been hiding outside of the doorway. Quickly, she jerked Moira into the apartment (ignoring the startled yelp it drew from her) so they could enter. “You’re here!”

“Of course,” Gabe winked at her. “It’s a good night when Moira’s paying.”

Jesse let out a low whistle as he brushed past Moira and into the apartment. “Good lord at the plants! And I thought your name was just for show!” Even Genji’s eyes widened at the assortment as he stepped in.

Gabe entered last. “Don’t touch them— she gets aggressive.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed.

“I swear, she threatened me with a pair of shears.” Gabe held a hand over his heart in mock fear. “Never been so terrified in my life.”

She shouldered him, smirking. “Shut up, Reyes, or I actually might.”

He grinned and ruffled her hair. “Happy birthday, Haugen.”

The two women left the men to their own devices for a few minutes, disappearing into the kitchen to sort through the bags.

Clover shook her head at the amount of alcohol Moira had brought over. “I still can’t believe you paid for all of this.”

Moira drew her in. Then, she placed a kiss to her temple. “I just want to make you as happy as you make me, _mo stór._ ”

Clover looked up at her, expression softening. “You already do. Money— liquor— nothing changes that.” She looped her arms around her waist. “I don’t care about material possessions. You’re enough.”

Moira carded her long nails through her hair. “If you say so, darling. You’re enough for me, as well.”

Clover smiled at the sentiment. Her heart warmed, and she squeezed Moira tighter before releasing her hold.

She glanced at the wild assortment of bottles. It appeared as though she’d taken everyone’s preferences into consideration, creating the most ragtag group of liquor she had ever seen.

“Who likes Kahlúa?” Clover made a face at the bottle, inspecting it. 

Even Moira seemed to share her reservations about the drink. “... Gabriel enjoys it.”

“Mm, makes sense now.”

She grabbed the carton of grapefruit juice that was likely for her and opened it. Taking a quick swig, she found it confiscated by her partner. “At least use a _glass_.”

“Awe, come on! It’s my birthday! And _my_ apartment!”

“Which does not give you a _pass_ to be _disgusting._ Others may want some.” Moira moved into Clover’s space brushing their noses together. Her voice dropped as she neared. “Save your brattiness for later.”

Clover grinned against her lips. “ _Oh?_ Did you have something _else_ planned?” she hummed.

Moira chuckled. “I wasn’t lying when I promised you that it would be just us, bunny.” Reaching out, she swiped her thumb across Clover’s bottom lip. “I’m afraid I can’t wish you a _proper_ happy birthday with company around.”

“You could,” she mumbled against the digit, glancing down to her hand.

Moira pulled away, shaking her head. “What _will_ I do with you?” Despite her chiding, a smile touched her lips.

In typical Clover Haugen fashion, she drank more than she should have.

Their evening was interesting, to say the least. At one point Jesse had attempted to teach her line dancing. Clover had picked up quickly on the movements, but gave up when Moira refused to join her.

They swapped stories of their childhood. Jesse was an oversharer, that was a given. What surprised her was that Genji opted to open up after a few drinks. She enjoyed the insight into his life and who he was. Mostly, he talked about long afternoons at the arcade, his favorite holidays and how much he missed certain foods.

Eventually, the quad had settled in for the evening, making light conversation as they lounged around. Gabe was taking up half of her couch. Clover had her feet in his lap, her head settled in Moira’s lap. Even the redhead had loosened up— the first few buttons at the top of her shirt were undone, her tie discarded to the coffee table. Her hair was no longer meticulously styled. In fact, her cowlick was prominent, and Clover found it _adorable_.

Jesse and Genji were laying against each other on the floor. Circuit had taken a liking to them, and had settled in Jesse’s lap. Genji tried to teach him how to play Hearthstone on Clover’s laptop, and judging by the colorful swears that left his lips, he wasn’t doing too well.

“I’m gonna go smoke,” he grumbled as he shoved the device into Genji’s hands.

Once he was on his feet, he stumbled slightly and caught himself on the couch. As he glanced down at the two women, he had to do a double take.

Jesse blinked a few times, leaning into Moira’s personal bubble. Immediately she recoiled from the invasion. He stopped her by pointing at her hand.

“Moira! Your nails are broken! Awe… two of them, actually.” He frowned up at her. “I know how hard you work on keeping your… _particular_ look together.”

Clover tilted her head, looking at the aforementioned manicure. When she realized what he was drawing attention to, her face turned bright red and she looked away again.

“Mm.” Moira studied her index and middle nails, which had been clipped,— not broken,— and filed smooth. “Thank you, McCree, for the concern.”

Clover couldn’t stop the closed-lipped laughter that was threatening to break free.

“Why’s she laughing?”

Even Gabe smirked, bringing his drink to his lips to hide the expression. Jesse just looked confused, and Genji pat him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell you later, Jesse.”

“Why don’t _you_ tell him, Moira?” Clover glanced up at her, smirking.

A flush crossed her face, and Moira coughed out an excuse for a laugh. “I hardly find that conversation I wish to have with McCree.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Moira glared down at her. “Clover.”

“I wanna know!” Jesse was standing over Genji now. He offered a hand to his partner, who accepted it and got to his feet. “It can’t be as bad as what I heard Reyes and Morrison—”

“ _Jesse McCree.”_

Clover snickered. She shifted in Moira’s lap, sitting up. “You see, Jesse, when two women like each other as much as me and Moira do—“

“ _Bunny_ ,” Moira warned.

She was abruptly cut off.

“ _Bunny?”_ The three men spoke at once, varying tones in their voices. Gabriel sounded humored, Genji sounded appalled, and Jesse sounded downright horrified.

Gabe continued to snicker. He tilted his cup towards Moira, who seemed irritated with their interruption. “Is that what does it for you, Moira? Pet play?” He scoffed and shook his head. “I never heard _that_ one used on your ‘Angel’.”

Despite her embarrassment at the slip up and the fact that her face was hot with shame, Clover glared. “Oh? Since you’re _so_ humored by our sex lives, perhaps you’ll be kind enough to inform me— what does it for _you,_ Gabriel? Do you, perhaps, enjoy being called _Commander_ by your husband?” She paused and smirked. “... or is it the other way around? One of you is _bound_ to be into power dynamics.”

His drink went down the wrong pipe, and he started sputtering.

“Ah— you enjoy giving said titles. Interesting.”

“I did not need to know of this,” Genji sighed, sliding deeper into his hoodie. “I would have been better off never hearing _any_ of it.”

Moira scoffed into her drink. “Apparently you have a thing for _courageous cowboys_ , Genji. You are not one to talk.”

“My love for Jesse—”

“Awe, you love him!” Clover couldn’t stop the grin that came to her face. “That’s so cute.”

His face turned red as he curled in on himself. Jesse grinned and ruffled his dark hair. “C’mon. I’m still heading downstairs.”

Moira shifted beneath her partner. “I’ll join you. She’ll throw a fit if I smoke in here.”

Clover moved so she could stand. “You shouldn’t be smoking at all, but I can’t stop you.”

“We all have our vices.” Moira stood, her back popping as she went. Every time her body cracked, it make Clover wince.

Gabe stood as well. “I know that I, at least, should get going. I’ll walk with you.”

It took Clover a few tries to get to her feet. “I’ll walk you down.”

Moira placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her back down onto the couch. “I’m afraid you’d fall down the stairs. It’s better if you wait here.”

“I am _not_ that drunk!”

“You absolutely are. Stay.” She repeated firmly.

Gabe snickered and pat Moira’s shoulder. “Pet play. Really…”

She glared at him, but didn’t retort.

Clover waved a hand over the back of the couch as she heard the group move for the door. “Have a good night! Walk safe! Don’t die!”

“We will try our best,” Genji assured her. He was, unfortunately for him, the most sober of the group. 

There was a _thud,_ some heavily accented swearing from Jesse, before the door swung closed behind them.

A few minutes after they left, she pushed herself off of the couch. Thankfully, she was able to coordinate her legs well enough to make it to her bedroom without falling over.

Her clothes came off piece by piece until she was laying bare under her sheets.

Fifteen minutes later, she had almost nodded off when she heard the front door again. She heard hushed conversation between Circuit and Moira before a shadow passed through her door.

Moira stopped, glancing towards her in the dim light. Her eyes flicked up and down her figure a few times. “Are you asleep?” she asked incredulously.

She blinked her drowsiness away. She parted her legs, the sheets falling away slightly to reveal her body. “What do you think?” 

Her eyes scanned her again, this time hungry at the implication. “And here I was, thinking _I_ would be the generous one this evening.”

Clover grinned as she watched her begin to undress. Her fingers still moved skillfully down the buttons of her shirt, even in her current state. “I can think of a few things you can give me.”

“Mm. What is it that you’d like, _mo stór?_ ”

She propped her head up on her palm. Her fingers traced random patterns in her sheets as she thought, on it. Once Moira had slipped out of her slacks, standing only in her boxers before her lover, Clover curled her index finger.

“Come here and I’ll show you.”


	44. Chapter 44

Things were… _good._

For a while, at least.

Months went by in what felt the blink of an eye. The longer Clover was employed with Blackwatch, the more comfortable she became in her unlikely profession.

There had been one night, not too long after her birthday that Gabe had pulled her aside before a mission. She’d been given an infrared visor— “to curb your awful eyes,” he’d said. “You lose your glasses in the field and you’re gonna die.”

It was a learning curve, for sure. It helped her see both enemies and allies more clearly, along with civilians unfortunately caught in the crossfire.

There had been too many of those. The prospect of death was one she’d become intimate with.

The first time a teammate was shot, she’d nearly fainted. Somehow, though, she managed to keep herself upright and even assisted Moira as she tended to McCree on the dropship.

“You make an awful habit of this, don’t you?” She asked while soaking the last of his blood away from the entry wound. Non-lethal, amazingly. Still— the reminder that they were all mortal was all too real.

Jesse only offered a melancholy smile in response.

It had been interesting seeing her work. She hadn’t had access to gloves, and seeing her hands covered in blood…

… she had felt a little weird about that one for a few days. Not because she was disgusted or repulsed, which was the root of her concern.

Talon was a growing nuisance. Between Vialli moving money between offshore accounts and Bartalotti moving weapons around the globe, they had their hands full. Their rate of dispatch had grown exponentially. They were lucky to have an evening free from work.

Their available nights were spent between the sheets. That’s where they found themselves that evening— in Moira’s apartment, listening to the ambient noise of Rome through a cracked window. A late summer breeze warmed the room and nearly carried them off to sleep.

Clover laid comfortably in Moira’s arms, the blanket half kicked off. The woman was idly running a long nail down her spine. Every so often, Clover would press back into the feeling of her nails and breathe a sigh of content.

Moira shifted behind her. Clover’s eyes followed the movement, just looking for something to focus on, watching as she went to grab a long-gone room temperature glass of water.

However, her eyebrows furrowed as she noted the way her hand trembled while holding the cup. She fixed her grip on it, and it seemed to stabilize for a moment, only to nearly fumble it seconds later.

Clover quickly stole the glass from her and set it back down. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Moira assured. Her voice was strained.

She caught the hand before Moira could snatch it away. The woman clicked her tongue in disapproval and attempted to fight her on it, pulling the limb, but Clover held it firmly.

“I’m beginning to think I liked you a bit more when you couldn’t hold me down.”

Clover cast a faux glare at her. “Well, I for one know that you quite like when I get rough with you.” She flipped her bedside lamp on. “Let me look.”

Moira’s expression shifted to something more timid. “Really, Clover, there’s nothing—”

She was silenced with a real glare.

Slowly, she released her vice on Moira. She didn’t immediately withdraw the limb, but she did flex her fingers nervously.

Clover was taken aback by the state of the arm. Skin that had once been a light lavender had, over time, darkened to a deeper violet. It was nauseating how prominent her veins had become. They were raised, spiderwebbing under her already thin skin.

“It’s getting worse,” she realized quietly, tracing one of the protruding veins. “How did I not notice?”

Moira decided the attention was enough. “I’m fine,” she repeated, drawing her hand back.

“I don’t think this constitutes _fine,_ Moira.”

The woman shifted their position, leaning over Clover. “If it were not fine, I don’t believe I would have been able to draw such pretty sounds—”

She had attempted to dip her fingers between Clover’s thighs again, but the woman immediately read through her intent. The action had been wholly intended as a distraction. _I’m done talking about this._

Clover grabbed her wrist and held it up away from her. “Moira, stop.” She loosened her hold, threading their fingers together. “... I’m _concerned_ about you.”

The ginger sighed heavily, rolling away. “You shouldn’t be.”

“After months together, you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t be concerned about the fact that you may or may not be falling apart?” She sat up, watching as Moira stole from the bed and began to flit around the room. “I would have thought by now you’d understand that I am going to fret over you.”

“And _I_ would have hoped,” Moira snapped, “that you would have gotten over that by now.” She continued on, folding their respective clothing and putting it aside.

Clover huffed and flopped back into the sheets. “What? That I’d see you as more of a sexual outlet and less of a person?”

She stopped suddenly, her back to Clover. For a second she was dazzled by the way she looked in the moonlight— long limbs, and pale, milky flesh illuminated through the window. The tint on her arm had grown higher.

Had she really not been paying as close attention as she thought?

She glanced down to the slacks she’d been folding. Her head turned slightly, and Clover caught a glimpse of her pursed lips. “Perhaps.”

Clover sat up, gathering the sheets around her bare form. “I haven’t left, Moira. I’m not planning on leaving you.”

Facing her once more, Moira searched her face. “I can’t fathom _why_. Have you not gotten it through that stubborn brain of yours that there is the _possibility_ that I am not a good person?”

“What’s bringing this on, _mijn liefje_?” Her eyebrows knit together. “What’s bothering you? Don’t tell me it’s nothing— you only get aggravated like this when something is on your mind.”

Her expression wavered, and she seemed to come to the same realization. Instead of speaking, she turned and started cleaning the room again.

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Occasionally, the honk of a horn or the laughter of a pedestrian would interject itself into their quiet space. 

“You’re still here.”

The sudden statement caught her off guard. “... yes?” She agreed, a touch confused by the observation. “Is that a bad thing?”

Moira glanced back to her, expression obscured by a shadow. “You… moved across a continent for me, when you barely even knew me. That is something I do not believe even Angela would have done.”

“Well,” she responded, a touch bitter, her mouth a bit dry from the comparison. “I find quite often that I’m not Ziegler.”

“You’re not,” Moira agreed, settling onto the edge of the bed. Once more she reached for the water— this time, with her non-afflicted hand. “You are— at worst,— impatient, my dear.”

Clover squinted at her as she took a drink. “Are you going to elaborate on that one?”

Moira glanced down at her and smirked behind the glass. Clover realized her response only proved her point. Huffing, she folded her arms. “You know, you are as well.”

Moira shrugged and returned the empty glass to the nightstand. “A fault I am well aware of.” She shifted and settled back onto the bed beside her partner, sitting up. Clover shifted, making room for her. “Should I have done more studies on my serum? Of course.” Moira waved her hand dismissively. “But it is _working._ So far there have been few issues, and I have managed to combat them all.”

“What about when you can’t?”

Moira stalled, curling her fingers. “... I will.”

She snorted. “There’s _your_ stubbornness.”

She shot a glare at Clover, who only smiled playfully.

“You were going somewhere with that train of thought,” Clover prodded gently, running her hand down Moira’s back. “Is it really such an issue that I’m _impatient?_ ”

Moira shook her head, pushing her hair back. “No— no… I think it…”

She hesitated in her thoughts. Her expression twisted for a moment as she considered her words very carefully.

“... I believe it… almost _scares_ me at times how loyal you are to me— to _us_.” She swallowed thickly and wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I have never been with someone who has… remained, despite my growing list of faults.”

Idly, her fingers traced Moira’s spine. She could feel her vertebrae beneath her fingertips. Over the months they’d spent together, she’d come to know the feeling of Moira on her skin. She knew where all of her sharpened edges lied, where she was the most sensitive, where to get a rise from her. Despite her knowledge, it was only skin deep. Delving into Moira’s thoughts was another realm.

“Did you expect me to run from you?” she asked quietly.

Moira nodded, looking at her hands folded in her lap. “For a while.”

“Do you expect me to run now?”

“At times,” she admitted.

Sitting up once more, Clover tried to meet her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” she reassured. “Nothing you could do would make me run from you, Moira.” She drew her hand down her arm to gather her attention.

Slowly, she met her gaze. “Don’t be so sure about that, Clover.”

She sighed, touching her chin. “Have I told you that you’re dramatic?”

A sad smile met the corners of her lips. “At times. Have I reminded you lately that you are perhaps the most hard-headed creation on this Earth?”

“In fewer words.”

Moira’s smile grew genuine then at their banter. Seeing it made Clover’s heart flip and her pulse quicken.

Slowly, she traced her thumb over Moira’s bottom lip. Her own trembled as she contemplated her words. Her touch moved to follow the edge of her high cheekbones, to brush at the dusting of freckles she’d adored since she first laid eyes on her.

“ _Ik ben verliefd op jou,_ ” she whispered, nervous. She couldn’t say it in English. Not yet.

A lock of hair was brushed behind her ear. Moira brushed a knuckle against her own cheek, and she hadn’t even noticed the tear form.

Leaning forward, Moira placed a soft kiss to the wet trail.

“ _Is tú mo ghrá,_ ” she whispered back, getting the idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	45. Chapter 45

She stared at the phone for several hours.

Clover had woken up in the middle of the night. Unable to go back to sleep, her thoughts had twisted to her childhood, around thoughts and memories of her parents, until the guilt of her sins weighed on her soul.

It was a bad time, she tried to convince herself. He’d be busy, doing only god knows what when one’s reviving around-the-clock care. He’d be in an episode, and wouldn’t be available to talk. He wouldn’t know who she was.

There were a million reasons for her to not call. Yet, from the moment she woke up, it was the only thing on her mind.

Clover missed her father greatly. She missed telling him about her day, she missed how excited he used to be when she told him about her accomplishments, when he understood what it meant. She missed hearing stories from his youth and stories about her mother.

Her conversation with Moira had sparked a yearning within her. Family was, and had always been, important to Clover.

She wanted to tell him about her— about how madly in love she was with Moira O’Deorain, how the Irish geneticist had captured her heart. How she was so much kinder than people gave her credit, and perhaps the most intelligent woman she’d ever met. She wanted him to know that she was _happy_. Perhaps as happy as he had once been…

Mustering up all of her courage, she made the call.

Clover’s hands shook as she jammed mismatched clothes into a suitcase, not taking the time to fold them. Every so often, she’d hiss a curse at the clothes and punch them down as they refused to cooperate.

The music she was blaring was sure to warrant a noise complaint. It was loud, it was raw, and it drowned out the cacophony of her thoughts.

When it suddenly stopped, she scowled and wheeled around to resume her playlist. What she hadn’t expected was to find someone towering over her steep.

“ _Godverdomme tering!_ ” Clover jumped a mile into the air as she caught sight of her partner. Throwing a hand to her chest, she snapped. “Knock first?!”

“You wouldn’t have heard me. You’ll be deaf by the time you’re my age if you keep this up.” Moira tossed the cord aside, taking care to make sure it didn't land in the middle of the floor. “Is there a viable reason you’re trying to wake up the entire complex?”

“Yeah, so I can't hear myself think.” She threw open her closet, the sliding door banging into the end of the track. She began tearing through the clothes there— mostly t-shirts and sweaters. The black dress she’d worn on their first date was snatched from it’s hanger before being thrown to the bed, along with a pair of pantyhose that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

“More important question— how the _hell_ did you get in here?” Her tone was bitter. “Did you _fade_ your way under the door?”

Moira cleared her throat. Glancing back, Clover watched her hold up her keys with one finger. “Your cat showed up at my window. They are concerned for you,” she explained. Frowning, she peered at the bag, spilling over with wadded up clothing. “As am I. You didn’t show up for work, and now you’re packing?”

“Commander Reyes has granted me a leave,” she answered dryly.

“Why?”

Clover pushed her glasses up to dig her palms into her eyes. She began mumbling to herself in rapid Dutch. A few scattered English phrases broke through, but they didn't hold very much comprehensible meaning.

“I waited too long to call. It’s all my fault— you told me, and you told me, and other people told me that I should _reach out_ , that it’s gonna be _too late_ one day, and did I listen? No! No, I didn’t! I waited and now it’s too late and I’m _never—_!”

She stopped suddenly, inhaled sharply, and dragged her hands down her face. With the movement, her bottom eyelids were pulled slightly before she released them. “Do you have _any_ idea how much it costs to buy coffee and cake for an entire wake?”

Turning, she started ripping more clothes from her closet. “And _then_ there’s the _service_ — what is the point if you’re gonna be cremated?— and there’s _that_ , and I have to make sure Uncle Bram doesn’t touch anything. That stupid _,_ _petty thief_ will sell anything he gets his hands on _—_ ”

As a hand settled on her shoulder, she faltered in her words. It wasn’t until she stopped ranting that she realized tears had started to stream down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Moira offered. Her tone was gentle, but the words felt empty. 

“It’s fine.” Quickly, she shrugged the hand away. “You didn’t know him and I knew this was going to happen. It’s _fine_.”

“I don’t believe you’re fine, Clover.”

She couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes. Instead, she pursed her lips, trying to hold herself together. “It will be. People die. Hell, I see death _regularly_ now. It’s nothing. We move on.” Scoffing, she threw a pair of jeans on the bed. “Are you going to recommend I see a therapist again?”

“No,” She assured. She smoothed her button down, thinking for a long moment as she studied a spot on the carpet. 

Her hands, much steadier, cupped around Clover’s. The action eased some of the irritation she felt— instead, it left her feeling tired, beat down.

“We do… move on,” Moira agreed. For a moment, her voice sounded strained. Clover glanced up and noted the way she swallowed before continuing— gripping her hands tighter. “... but you do not have to go about healing alone. It is _different_ when they mean something to you.”

She searched Moira’s face, her expression steeled. For once, the other woman’s expression was open— it was odd, seeing her the vulnerable one, when Clover was the one who had lost her father.

Moira shared her grief, she realized. Not entirely— no, she shared her pain as much as a lover could. It dawned on her, a touch late, that it was the knowledge that her girlfriend was aching that was bothering her rather than the death of a stranger.

Clover’s heart seized. She had always known Moira cared, from small gestures such as bringing her breakfast and opening up piece by piece over time, but something about the way she was looking at her… the ground felt more solid beneath their feet.

She did love her— and she had an inkling that, even if it hadn’t been said in a shared language, that Moira felt the same. The woman that she loved was standing before her, trying to help, and she’d spat venom in her face.

Lips parted, she glanced away as she tried to piece together a thought.

“I… I suppose.” She pulled her hands from Moira’s, only to flip them and slot their fingers together. “I would appreciate it if you came with me… There’s a lot to take care of.”

Clover finally met her eyes, unsurprised to find red and blue staring back. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here, Moira.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she assured, placing a kiss to her forehead.

Clover ran her fingers under the hem of her shirt, tracing the bare skin where her waist band stopped. “Do you think Gabe will permit you to go with me? It’s one thing for someone like me to take a few days of leave, but you—”

“If they need a medic,” Moira interrupted, “they can bring in another. Gabriel will be more than understanding in this matter.”

“Are you sure?” She sounded skeptical. He had, of course, been more than accommodating when she had called out of work that morning. 

Clover felt a touch of guilt that her first instinct hadn’t been to run to Moira for comfort— rather, to angrily pack and get back to the Netherlands as quickly as possible. Surely it had been a normal response. Still, she should have let her know—

Moira nodded, pulling her close into an embrace. “He will have to be fine with it. He will not have a choice— I will be going with you.”

Clover pressed her nose into her chest. “Thank you,” she breathed, relaxing slightly as she felt her long fingers card through her hair.

“Of course. I will do anything you ask of me, _mo grá_.”

Clover eyed her skeptically. “ _Anything_ is a very dangerous promise, Moira.”

Her thin lips licked up at the corners, a humored glint in her eye. “Am I not a dangerous woman?”

“Not to me,” Clover assured. She squeezed her hands. “But I know you’ve come under fire for your _radical_ thinking. What is the saying, though? The path to hell is paved with good intentions?”

Moira’s smile waned, but did not disappear. “ _Giorraíonn beirt bóthar_.” She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Two people shorten the road.”


End file.
